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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27979815">The Sword Awakens</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elendiliel/pseuds/Elendiliel'>Elendiliel</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Star Wars Sequel Trilogy, The Mortal Instruments Series - Cassandra Clare</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Gen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 16:48:18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>21,371</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27979815</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elendiliel/pseuds/Elendiliel</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Some time in the future, in an Institute not so far away... Shadowhunter legend Luke Skywalker is missing. His sister, the equally legendary head of the Oxford Institute, sends her most daring lieutenant to track him down, racing against a deadly alliance of demons, Downworlders and fallen Nephilim. Little do either of them know the true threat the Shadow World is about to face - or the people who will be called upon to fight it.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. The Shadowhunter</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is a loose rewrite of The Force Awakens, set in the Mortal Instruments universe (or rather, my interpretation of it, some time after the most recent novels). In some places, I've lifted or only slightly edited dialogue from the film; in others, I've taken far more liberties. I hope it's not too jarring, and doesn't count as plagiarism. On the Mortal Instruments side, I'm a little behind on the latest book-series and have used a fair amount of imagination to fill the gaps; if I've gone completely against canon anywhere, that's my excuse and I'm sticking to it.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>No, no, no… How did this go so wrong so fast?</em>
</p><p>Poe had to force himself to stay under cover a moment longer, assessing the situation. It was something a succession of tutors had done their best to drill into him: never just jump straight in. Look first, then decide what you’re going to do. For Poe, that generally still was “jump straight in”, but it <em>was</em> good to know <em>where</em> to leap.</p><p>It had seemed like such a straightforward mission when Leia had suggested it. After years of searching, one of Poe’s not-quite-official forays into the edges of enemy territory had turned up a clue – well, actually a clue to a clue – as to where her long-vanished brother might be. The Skywalker twins were both legends in their own lifetimes, but Luke had disappeared under circumstances his sister refused to discuss. Poe wasn’t suicidal enough to push her on the subject, though he had done a bit of asking around, and didn’t think it was a coincidence that Leia’s husband and son had gone missing at about the same time. He put the matter to the back of his mind, focusing on the immediate past, present and probable future.</p><p>The data he and a couple of friends had swiped from the office of one of their enemies’ front organisations (the memory was fresh enough to bring a smile to his face even at that moment) had directed them to a warlock who had come across some sort of pointer to Luke’s whereabouts. On its own, the information was useless, but combined with the Institute’s library – maybe with the help of the computer they weren’t supposed to have – it could show them where to find an invaluable ally in the war anyone who didn’t have their head in the sand could see was coming.</p><p>The meeting had been set up at a local nightclub. Saints and Sinners marketed itself to Downworlders and Shadowhunters as the equal of New York’s legendary Pandemonium. Never having been there, Poe couldn’t make the comparison, but it was certainly popular with the younger vampires, werewolves and warlocks, and even a few fae, their more outlandish features hidden from the mundane customers by glamours. Poe’s Voyance rune let him see things as they truly were, and he rather enjoyed watching people who, a few generations before, would have been at one another’s throats – probably literally – mixing happily in defiance of old convention and, in the case of the fae, treaty. Not that any of their Institute really cared. In normal times, a scattering of Shadowhunters would have been there too, officially on patrol, officially-unofficially maintaining ties between the two communities, and unofficially just having a good time.</p><p>His contact had been easy to recognise. Lor San Tekka’s warlock-mark was subtle – an extra joint on each finger, hardly worth hiding – but Poe had been trained to observe such things practically from birth. For his part, his arms were bare and covered in Marks and Mark-scars, and he had a couple of seraph blades tucked into his belt. He’d never been one for concealment, beyond a light glamour to stop mundanes staring at him too much. And few people could just stroll into a nightclub with a ginger and white cat prowling at their heels. Despite BB having been with him since he was a kitten, Poe still wasn’t sure (beyond a half-remembered story about necromancy) <em>why</em> his feline hunting companion was quite so smart, or why mundanes couldn’t see him at times like this, but he wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. The three of them had retired to a back room (Poe suspected Leia might have twisted the management’s arm a little) for the actual handover. Poe had been surprised that the centuries-old warlock had put the information on a USB stick. It seemed a little modern for someone who could probably remember all too well the first Europeans to arrive in his home country. Not that Poe knew exactly ­<em>which</em> country that was, or when. Asking such questions just wasn’t done.</p><p>They’d been exchanging less personal small talk when the music outside had stopped. Poe had known instantly that something was wrong, badly wrong. Not just because of his training-honed instincts, or even Mark-sharpened hearing. His <em>Conscientia</em> rune was alerting him to a threat even more deadly than a Shadowhunter’s normal routine. All the Nephilim in his Institute, and a lot elsewhere, especially the younger generations, had that rune. The older ones were often less keen. It wasn’t in the Grey Book, and had been invented by a girl born “mundane” who had Ascended by drinking from the Mortal Cup. Poe thought that was ridiculous. Gifts were gifts and knowledge was knowledge, regardless of the source. And as far as he was concerned, the Tico sisters’ Ascension was one of the best things to have happened to the Clave in years. Not that he was entirely unbiased there, given his parentage. Kes Dameron and Shara Bey had been among the last to Ascend before Valentine’s uprising.</p><p>No time for philosophy. There was <em>big</em> trouble in the rest of the nightclub. A mundane would have thought it was a normal theft and hostage situation. Poe knew better. The <em>Conscientia</em> rune had been developed with one specific threat in mind. If <em>they</em> were here, it meant they’d belatedly realised the value of the information he’d stolen, and were after the same thing he was. And they’d kill to get it.</p><p>He couldn’t let that happen. Not on his watch. Tekka felt the same way. The old warlock seemed at least as aware of the situation as Poe, and insisted on being the one to distract the invaders while Poe made his escape, or at least got the data to a safe place. Poe couldn’t find any effective counterarguments. Besides, having come up against one or two rogue warlocks, and more importantly fought alongside others, he had a healthy respect for their powers. Tekka might survive, and Poe certainly had a better chance of protecting the precious information. As long as he didn’t find himself on the receiving end of said powers by being stubborn. Poe and BB raced for the rear exit, while Tekka headed for the dancefloor and the very unwanted guests.</p><p>Halfway there, Poe’s <em>Conscientia</em> rune flared up again, telling him there was still danger. It didn’t have to do so. His own conscience was doing just as good a job. Quickly, he crouched down and clipped the USB drive to BB’s collar, just behind his tag. Tekka had chosen well, presumably by chance, although with warlocks, who knew? The drive was completely hidden by the tag.</p><p>“Get as far away from here as you can,” he told his furry friend. “Don’t let <em>anyone </em>catch you.” He scratched BB briefly behind the ears. “I’ll find you, buddy, don’t worry.”</p><p>BB gave him his I-understand blink, then turned tail and loped away, hopefully to safety. Poe did the same thing in the opposite direction.</p><p>The scene on the dancefloor was horribly familiar from a dozen contraband mundane films and TV shows, and a few missions Poe didn’t like to remember. A hostage situation, with Tekka as negotiator. Forcing himself to stay in the shadows, Poe made a thorough assessment of the room. It was <em>them</em> all right. No uniforms, but the body language – a cross between Shadowhunter and mundane military – was unmistakable. A single detachment, smaller than a platoon. Three officers and twelve other ranks, at a guess. More bodies would overcrowd the operational area. Poe shook his head briefly as he saw that most of the hostage-takers were carrying guns. Like almost all Shadowhunters, he distrusted such contraptions, preferring a seraph blade or his foldaway crossbow, which was at that moment tucked into his boot. But this was a Sighted unit, if he was any judge. <em>They</em> didn’t tend to mix races together too much, separating out Sighted mundanes (expendable, in <em>their </em>eyes), werewolves (heavy infantry), fae (shock troops), vampires (stealth and intelligence units) and fallen Shadowhunters (the elite) in roughly that order of “value”. To Poe, and most other people with a scrap of brain and heart, that was nonsense. All races were equal in worth. Besides, his parents and a good many other Shadowhunters he knew had been born “mundane” (a word he never liked using), he’d worked with plenty of vamps, weres and warlocks, and one of his best friends was part-fae. Anywhere else, that would have made Iolo a pariah, but Leia was strongly, almost aggressively pro-Downworlder and an outspoken opponent of the Cold Peace. The Oxford Institute was a sanctuary for anyone a bit different.</p><p>Poe pulled his thoughts back to here and now. Despite Saints and Sinners being a Downworlder club, <em>they </em>hadn’t sent a highly-skilled unit. Probably just out of training. Even to Poe, who’d handled weapons since he was old enough to know one end of a blade from the other, they looked far too young. One in particular stood out, a dark-complexioned young man who looked as though he would much rather be <em>anywhere</em> else. Most of the others had mastered the carefully neutral expression that was the best guarantee of safety around their superiors. Poe switched his attention to said commanders. He recognised them from reconnaissance photos. Captain Phasma, an ice-queen of a fae woman, blonde curls not quite covering her pointed ears, a harsh look in her blue eyes. General Hux, standing impassively at parade rest, sunset-haired and vampire-pale. Presumably he was at least partly responsible for the unnatural quiet of the nightclub’s patrons. The rumour was that he was unusually gifted with the <em>encanto</em>, the vampire’s ability to impose their will on others. That might help cover up this whole affair afterwards, or at least make it look like a mundane crime. And in the centre of the room, centre of attention, a masked, hooded figure that could only be Kylo Ren.</p><p>Poe’s <em>Conscientia</em> rune burned hotter than ever as he forced himself to focus on the fallen Shadowhunter. There were many stories about this man, most too wild to be true, but if even a tenth of them were accurate he was a force to be reckoned with. Poe felt a rush of sympathy for Tekka, who had been forced to his knees in front of Ren. The old man (he’d stopped ageing around sixty) still had a strong sense of dignity about him, even with his hands tightly bound behind his back and a soldier at each shoulder. Sympathy was chased by anger. Tekka must have <em>let</em> himself be captured, buying Poe time to escape and himself an opportunity to bargain for the others’ lives. He was going to die, and Poe could only make things worse by intervening.</p><p>Tekka and Ren had been talking as Poe entered, but too quietly for Poe to hear until Tekka, perhaps sensing his presence, raised his voice as he said, “You cannot deny the truth that is your family.”</p><p><em>Good last words</em>, Poe was shocked to find himself thinking as Ren, some inner tether finally snapping, plunged his red-tinted seraph blade into Tekka’s chest. Poe hoped he’d died instantly. He couldn’t stop himself looking away as the blade’s internal flames, infernal rather than divine, charred the warlock’s body. It was just so <em>wrong</em>, using seraph blades on anyone but demons. Even the worst Accords-breakers he’d hunted down, vampires and werewolves who killed humans for sport or warlocks who practised the blackest of magics, had merited a quick death, as painless as he could manage, with a traditional blade, and then only if he had no viable alternative. Luckily, such hunts were few and far between.</p><p>Tekka’s death had broken the <em>encanto</em>-spell. The man had been popular with all the local Downworld factions, a gentle peace-weaver who often sorted out budding disputes long before the Institute heard about them. He’d even kept his birth-name, a tie to his human heritage most warlocks jettisoned early on. <em>Someone</em> was going to snap, and then there would be trouble.</p><p>Sure enough, a young man Poe knew to be a regular troublemaker, growling wolf-like in fury, lunged for the nearest soldier, shifting as he moved into his other form. He didn’t get there, not fully. A bullet tore though his chest, but not in time to stop his claws making a mess of his target’s throat. Poe just had time to register the dying soldier being cradled by his neighbour, the dark one he’d noticed earlier, before the room became true pandemonium. Well, now he probably couldn’t make things worse, except by staying out of the way.</p><p>No seraph blades. Poe half-drew the misericord in his left wrist-sheath, ready for close-quarters fighting if necessary (what an ironic name for a death-bringer; it derived from the Latin for <em>mercy</em>), then reached for his crossbow and quarrels. He was a good shot, and this was one of his favourite weapons. Reducing the mêlée to a puzzle to be solved helped. Avoid the Downworlders and foolhardy mundanes who presumably didn’t have a clue why they were fighting. Aim for arms and legs, trying not to hit major blood vessels – as though there was much chance of being that precise with blood, bullets and spells flying everywhere, and in such erratic lighting. Three soldiers had been taken off the board before a much more tempting target presented itself, and Poe’s trigger finger seemed to have a life of its own. If he could bring down <em>Kylo Ren</em>…</p><p>Halfway to its mark, the bolt froze in midair. So did Poe. Not in surprise, although that was certainly there. It was something Ren had done. A Shadowhunter, casting spells like a warlock? What was this man becoming?</p><p>He couldn’t focus on that now. Ren and Hux between them had imposed some semblance of order on the chaos of a moment before, and dispatched two soldiers to drag Poe from his hiding place behind a curtain. He was powerless to resist, a feeling he detested. Neither of his escorts so much as looked at him. <em>Definitely</em> fresh from training. They hadn’t developed the hard shell people like them – and him, come to think of it, at times – needed. The damage around him wasn’t as bad as he’d feared. Maybe half a dozen dead, total, including Tekka, and a dozen wounded. Half a dozen deaths too many, but it could have been worse. He made a mental note to call in some favours and get the whole thing sorted out – if he got out alive.</p><p>Which didn’t look too likely just then, as he was thrown down in front of Ren. Banishing the image of Tekka in the same position, calling on his considerable reserves of nerve, he met the point in Ren’s mask where his eyes presumably were. Well, when in doubt, be sassy. “Do you talk first or I talk first? I talk first?”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. The Soldier</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>FN-2187 hoped nobody was watching him as he tried to calm himself down. He couldn’t stop staring at the blood on his hands. It coated his clothes, too, but his hands were easier to see. It wasn’t even as though he’d <em>known</em> the man who’d died in his arms. Their unit had only just been put together from three four-person fire-teams, all straight from training. This had been his first proper battle, and only the second time in his life he’d been expected to kill. The second time he’d failed. Oh, he had a better simulator score than any other cadet in his cadre, but when it came to ending the life of a real person… he just couldn’t do it. He’d done his best otherwise, knocking out or otherwise wounding his fair share of the enemy, but actually killing them was still beyond him. <em>Focus on the positives</em>. He’d managed to hit one of the Shadowhunter’s crossbow bolts before it reached its target. <em>That</em> had to count for something. He knew it was a weakness, this desire to save lives rather than take them, but it was one no amount of conditioning had yet excised.</p><p>Finally tearing his eyes from the evidence of carnage, he glanced at the captured Nephilim. He was at the front of their transport, directly behind the driver and sandwiched between a pair of guards. From his vantage point right at the back, all FN-2187 could see was a mess of black curls, but he’d noticed the man’s grace and strength even under Ren’s control. And it had to take a <em>lot</em> of nerve to backchat the Supreme Leader’s apprentice the way he had. Apart from Ren, this was the first Shadowhunter the soldier had seen in the flesh, and he certainly lived up to the rumours. Even down to the precision shooting, somehow hitting his target almost every time even with an antiquated weapon like that. Disabling without killing. <em>If I helped him escape – would his people take me in?</em></p><p>Probably not. But the idea refused to go away. Even when his Captain made her way to the seat opposite him, not losing her balance once or reaching for support as she walked the length of the minibus they used for under-the-radar work. Of the fair folk she might be, but there was nothing soft about her. FN-2187 was <em>very</em> glad he was on what passed for her good side. Maybe not for much longer.</p><p>“Is there something wrong, soldier?” There was no concern in her voice, other than a touch for the integrity of her unit. FN-2187 responded with the answer he knew she wanted. “No, ma’am.”</p><p>“Even so, I expect you to hand in your weapon to the armoury when we reach base, then report to the assessment unit. Is that clear?”</p><p>There was only one answer to that. “Yes, ma’am.”</p><p>“Good.” Phasma stood and strode back to the front of the bus, still steady as a rock. Blast, blast, blast. He’d been spotted. Of course he had. His best chance now was to get out of there as soon as he could. He knew, somehow, that another round of conditioning might destroy everything that made him <em>him</em>. He wasn’t sure whether that would be better or worse than death. And he had to get the Shadowhunter out as well. Not just because he stood a much better chance with one of the Nephilim by his side. Because what they’d done back in the nightclub, what Ren had done, was <em>not right</em>. The Shadowhunter and his kind were the best chance of stopping all that. And – well, because holding <em>anyone</em> captive, least of all a part-angel, just felt <em>wrong</em>.</p><p>He'd have plenty of time to plan his escape. Even under military discipline, debussing and reporting in was not a quick process, or a straightforward one, especially given how new their unit was. Half the paperwork was still in transit. Nobody higher up the chain of command cared much about the mundane units, except in terms of where they could best be deployed. They were just muscle. Not even worth naming. And everyone on the bus had surely noticed Phasma giving him special orders. As long as nobody needed him to be anywhere in particular, and he headed initially towards the armoury, everything should be fine.</p><p>As it turned out, it took a couple of hours to put this plan into operation. First, the prisoner had to be unloaded, processed and taken to Interrogation. FN-2187 made a careful note of the cell number. Then there was the tedious business of disembarkation and debriefing, made more complicated by the fact that Ren, typically, had left the paperwork half-done when they left, trusting in his status as the Supreme Leader’s apprentice, and then vanished off to conduct the interrogation afterwards, dragging the General with him. They both had to be dragged back to finish the admin involved in approving and logging the mission before its completion could be recorded. At last, their unit was dismissed and FN-2187, heart hammering, made for the interrogation cells via a roundabout route that should look to anyone watching him as though he were obeying the Captain’s orders. (And via his barracks, to change out of his bloody civilian clothes and into uniform.)</p><p>The interrogation was over, or perhaps just on pause, by the time he got there, but the prisoner was still under guard. FN-2187 had expected that. His prepared (not <em>too</em> prepared) story about the Shadowhunter being wanted elsewhere, generously laced with <em>you know what it’s like,</em> <em>don’t shoot the messenger</em>, <em>nobody tells me anything</em> and similar common complaints, worked like a charm. The guards were only too happy to slope off for a while, leaving the dumb rookie to his grunt work.</p><p>The Shadowhunter must have put up a <em>lot</em> of resistance. FN-2187 had read about the Marks they all had, including healing runes that could fix any normal injury, but if this one had had any they’d been used up. Cuts and bruises covered his face and arms. He’d had a nosebleed at some point. But the worst part was the look in his eyes. Defeated. Guilty. Ashamed. Whatever the interrogators had wanted from him, they’d got it. FN-2187, glancing once more over his shoulder to make certain nobody was watching, started to unfasten his restraints. “C’mon, we’re getting outta here.”</p><p>The man focused on him, recognition slowly dawning. He looked down at one of the runes on his arm. FN-2187 didn’t know that one, but he remembered it looking red and inflamed earlier, especially when the Shadowhunter had been near Ren. Now it was the same black as the others. That seemed to mean something important. The man pulled himself up into a sitting position, then stood, much more quickly than the soldier expected, looking around the room. “Can you see my <em>stele</em> anywhere?”</p><p>“Your what? Oh, the rune thing.”</p><p>The Shadowhunter looked briefly exasperated. “Yeah, the rune thing. Oh, there it is.” His belongings – the ones that weren’t weapons – were on a table in the corner of the room, where they should have been out of his reach. A slim penlike object and something that looked like a rock, but glowed brightly when the Shadowhunter picked it up. FN-2187 had heard about those. Witchlights. The man put the rock in his pocket and was about to tuck the <em>stele</em> into his belt, but then had second thoughts. He held it out to FN-2187. “Can you keep hold of this for a bit? Might look a bit suspicious on me.”</p><p>“I was just thinking that.” The man had clearly worked out their obvious exit strategy. Prisoner and escort. FN-2187 hid the <em>stele </em>in his empty holster (he’d complied with the first part of Phasma’s orders) before fitting a pair of cuffs, just tightly enough that they looked convincing. They were ready to go.</p><p>Nobody gave them a second glance as they made their way to the MT section. This wasn’t an environment conducive to questioning someone who looked as though they knew what they were doing. Even if that someone was muttering “stay calm, stay calm” under their breath, and had seemingly been put on escort detail solo and without a weapon. Even so, it was only when they were actually ensconced in a patrol car and the Shadowhunter was busy hotwiring it that they relaxed enough to introduce themselves. The Shadowhunter went first. “I’m Poe, by the way. Poe Dameron.”</p><p>“FN-2187.” That got an incredulous look. “You don’t have a <em>name</em>?”</p><p>“No, just a number.” It hadn’t really occurred to him that that might be thought strange.</p><p>“Well, better late than never. What do you think of Finn?”</p><p>The soldier considered the proposition. “Finn sounds good.”</p><p>“Great.” Poe returned to his task. Finn was surprised that he knew how to hotwire a car, but that question wasn’t top of his list. He asked the one that was. “How did you know you could trust me?”</p><p>Poe paused and looked at him. “A couple of things. I saw you, back at the club. You didn’t want to hurt anyone. Just protect your mates. I understand that.” Enough conditioning remained to send a flush of shame through Finn, but he ignored it. “And then there was this.” Poe indicated the Mark on his arm. “<em>Conscientia</em>. It’s an awareness rune. Tells me when people like your old masters are around. When it didn’t sound the alarm, I knew you were on my side.”</p><p>Finn found he could, after all, remember how to smile. Poe thought they were on the same side, and he was surprised to realise that it was more true than he’d believed. While there had been selfish reasons for his recent actions – and something told him Poe knew that – the <em>main</em> ones had been the <em>un</em>selfish reasons. There was hope for him yet.</p><p>There’d be time to consider that later, with any luck. Poe had got the car started, but it took their combined ingenuity just to persuade the external door to open. Getting it open <em>quietly </em>seemed to be beyond them. Finn realised too late that he should have expected all the outer doors to be alarmed. An unscheduled departure was going to attract attention, and very shortly did. They hadn’t gone more than half a street when motorcycle headlights appeared in their mirrors.</p><p>“By the Angel…” Poe didn’t sound surprised. Just tired. “Hold on! I’ll try to shake them off.”</p><p>“Shake” was the operative word. Finn suspected that without Poe’s Shadowhunter reflexes, they’d have crashed already. He was struggling to think straight as they swung from side to side, thankful that it was still nighttime and the roads were therefore empty. Would there be any weapons in here? He started with the obvious, most accessible hiding place. The glove compartment.</p><p>Perfect. Hand grenades. Stun grenades, by the look of them. They’d do nicely. A few well-placed flash-bangs scattered the majority of their pursuers, but these people had been taught since early childhood that failure was not an option. Even going as fast as they dared (and Poe clearly dared a <em>lot</em>), the lead cycles were eventually in pistol range.</p><p>“Get <em>down</em>!” Poe used his free hand to pull Finn back into his seat, the defector still leaning out of the window as bullets started to fly. “I’m not losing <em>anyone</em> else tonight. Look, we’ve nearly reached the city. They won’t try anything there. We’ll go straight to the Institute and we’ll be –“</p><p>The last word was drowned out as a bullet hit one of their rear tyres. The car skidded out of control, spun across the road and struck a lamppost. Driver and passenger were thrown out by the impact, both already unconscious by the time they hit the ground. The car wasn’t so lucky. It <em>was </em>lucky that the first of the pursuers to reach the burning wreck was in no mood to check for survivors. As far as he was concerned, the objective had been achieved. The Shadowhunter and the traitor were dead.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. The Scavenger</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>At first, Rey didn’t notice the ginger and white cat padding along behind her. Her thoughts were on the meal that day’s work would buy her. Whether it would taste of anything, and if so, what. Whether she’d have enough to share with people who hadn’t been so lucky. Based on past experience, she thought her chances were pretty good. Unless Unkar had lowered his prices again. He did that sometimes, without warning. She tried not to let it get to her, but it was hard.</p><p>If anyone had noticed Rey long enough to ask her what she did for a living, she’d have said, technically truthfully, that she worked in a salvage yard. Her place of work – and home, for that matter – was, indeed, a yard, and she and her colleagues did salvage things from it. What her self-respect wouldn’t let her admit to a stranger was that most people would call it a <em>junk</em>yard. They’d be wrong. The things in it weren’t wanted by anyone in their present state, but there were always useful bits and pieces to be found. Rey was good at that. Very good. She specialised in vehicles – mostly cars and motorcycles, or bicycles at a pinch, but on one glorious occasion there’d been a microlight that somehow nobody had noticed. She hadn’t been able to bear the thought of stripping it, not when only a few components had rusted through. Instead, she and a few friends had restored it to working order. That had been a <em>good</em> time, although parting with it had been hard. Rey dreamed of flying, of any kind of escape, but where would she go? And how, more importantly, would her parents find her again?</p><p>She always had to shake herself mentally at this point. The future would happen at its own pace. Her best course of action was just to keep busy. It was then that the sleek tomcat finally managed to get her attention.</p><p>“Oh, hello there,” she said, stopping and crouching down to his level. She liked cats. There were always a few around, but they didn’t usually look quite as well-cared-for as this one. Or as intelligent. “I’m sorry, but I haven’t got any food for you, and I don’t think Unkar does either.” <em>He’d be more likely to make you </em>into<em> food</em>, a nasty part of her brain suggested.</p><p>The cat gave her a slow, disdainful blink that somehow said: you think I’m <em>that</em> needy? Rey could generally read the moods of the feral cats that lived in the area better than most, but this was something else. “Well, what <em>are</em> you after, then? And what’s your name?”</p><p>The cat lifted his head slightly so that she could read his tag. “BB? That’s a… good name. I’m Rey. And I really am sorry, but I have to get on. I imagine your human’s looking for you. Go and find him – or her. You don’t look as though you need <em>my</em> help.” She straightened and carried on. The cat still followed her. She stopped again and turned to face him. It ought to be ridiculous, carrying on a conversation with a cat, but there was something about this one. Most of his species in his position would have resorted to pleading looks and pitiful yowls by then, but he gave the impression he was above all that nonsense. And would, nonetheless, just keep on following her unless she used brute force, which wasn’t an option. “Oh, all right, you can come with me. I’m sure I can find something for you, if you <em>are</em> hungry. Just – keep a low profile, all right?” Another blink, this one conveying understanding. They walked on towards the one real building in the yard, and hopefully some supper.</p><p>Unkar <em>had</em> lowered his prices. Rey’s haul that day, which a few weeks before would have netted her two days’ food, was apparently now worth one meal. She was too tired to argue, but accepted it and was about to walk away when Unkar spotted BB. “Is that cat part of your load? I’ll give you a good price if he is.” He named it – a month’s food supply, or a week’s for four people.</p><p>Rey looked down at BB. Something in her rebelled at the thought of selling <em>any</em> living creature. And this one was at least as intelligent as she was. His expression now could only be called mortified. Rey had the distinct impression that he couldn’t normally be seen if he didn’t want to be. Letting Unkar see him had been a mistake. It took her less than a heartbeat to make up her mind. “No. He’s a friend.” Before Unkar could make a remark, or raise his price, she’d walked away, BB striding beside her, towards her home.</p><p>It wasn’t bad, as homes around there went. She’d retrofitted an old VW camper van, all the easily removable parts long since stripped out. The furniture was still good, though, and she shored up the chassis and roof at regular intervals. She’d even, when things had been going particularly well, managed to restore the kitchen to something resembling working order for the rare occasions she had anything worth cooking. She was grateful for that now, as it meant she had a functioning fridge, miraculously containing consumable milk. Along with a random tin of tuna left over from a previous haul and that day’s earnings, she and BB were soon equipped with a decent meal apiece, which they ate in companionable silence.</p><p>It had already been late when she’d first encountered the remarkable cat, and now it was pitch-black outside, but Rey wasn’t quite ready to go to sleep yet. Slowly preparing for bed, spinning out the time, she wondered aloud, “So where do you live? I’ve never seen you around here before.”</p><p><em>You wouldn’t believe me</em>. The sentence was printed on the cat’s face as clearly as if he’d said it. “Oh, all right. I won’t ask again, then. Are there many other cats like you?”</p><p><em>Not many</em>. BB’s pride was almost tangible. Then, as though deciding he’d had enough, he tucked his paws underneath him, looking for all the world like a miniature lion statue, lowered his head and went to sleep. Rey took the hint, checked that her alarm clock was switched on and charged, turned out the light and got into bed. She was asleep almost as soon as her head touched the pillow.</p><p>Dawn-light and her alarm conspired to wake both of them simultaneously. Rey dressed quickly and made a couple of speedy breakfasts while BB stretched, groomed himself and checked that his claws were in working order, all with the same grace and self-possession with which he did just about everything. That last part reminded Rey oddly of a soldier or commando double-checking his kit before action. Who was this cat’s human? For that matter, who was this <em>cat</em>?</p><p>She put the questions to the back of her mind. That day’s other meals wouldn’t earn themselves. BB stalked alongside her as she worked, ears constantly turning to scan the area, his whole stance suggesting high alert. Was he running from something, or someone? Or was this how he normally spent his days?</p><p>Those queries joined the growing pile. Engrossed in freeing a still-functional distributor from the remnants of an engine, the first she knew of the threat was BB’s warning hiss. She turned, and her heart sank. Unkar had been serious about wanting the cat. He looked pedigree as well as smart. The right buyer would pay well enough that he’d sent a couple of his heavies to catnap the unfortunate feline. So much the worse for them. Life here could be tricky for someone who couldn’t handle themselves, and Rey had long since taken herself out of that category, learning unarmed combat and the quarterstaff from anyone who would teach her. The first man clearly hadn’t known that, judging by his look of surprise as she decked him. Sparing a moment to check that he was neither badly hurt nor faking, she looked up to see the fallen man’s colleague trying to extricate BB’s claws from his shoulder, a task made harder by the fact that his left hand seemed to be partially unresponsive. That was probably something to do with the cut on his wrist. It wasn’t a blind slash, but a precise incision to sever the tendons. Who – or what – <em>was</em> this cat?</p><p><em>Really</em> no time! Unkar hadn’t left anything to chance. Other enforcers were heading their way. In passing – everything but the essentials <em>had</em> to be in passing just then – she noted that he’d only sent his upper tier, the ones who saw things others didn’t seem able to notice. The ones like her. Calling to BB, who leaped down from his victim with the promptness of someone used to being commanded, she raced for what her intuition told her would be the safest area. These men had plenty of muscle, but little stamina and less brain. There were places to hide from them, sometimes for days.</p><p>She’d nearly reached one such haven when another man cannoned into her, sending them both to the ground. Rey rolled and jumped to her feet without having to think about it. The man started to do the same, but stopped when he saw – and heard – BB. She’d thought the cat had been aggressive before, but that had been playful compared to his body language now, fur on end, teeth bared, hissing like an old-fashioned kettle, but at twice the volume. His eyes flicked from the man – who she now saw was a stranger, only a little older than she was, with dark skin, hair and eyes, wearing what looked like cut-price commando gear but with a professional-style belt – to something that had fallen out of his now-empty holster when they collided, and back again. It looked a bit like a pen, or a stylus for a tablet. Whatever it was, it meant something to the cat.</p><p>Rey opted for defusing the situation. The young man looked as though he’d been through hell already, and she’d seen BB in action. She crouched down and, as delicately as she could manage with adrenaline still coursing through her system, put a hand on the cat’s back. “What’s up?”</p><p>BB turned to face her for as long as he dared, his gaze modulated with a considerable amount of information. She translated for the young man. “He says that belongs to his human.”</p><p>“You’re Poe’s cat?” She wasn’t surprised that he was addressing the cat like a person. It was obvious to anyone that BB <em>was</em> a person. The man’s phrasing caused the cat to lash out, narrowly avoiding breaking the skin of his hand, probably on purpose. A warning shot. “Sorry, sorry. I meant, Poe was your human, right?”</p><p>The past tense raised the cat’s hackles even further. While he worked out what to do to this impudent boy, Rey had another go at lowering the temperature of the situation, satisfying her own curiosity at the same time. “Who’s Poe?”</p><p>“Poe Dameron. He’s a Shadowhunter. Got himself caught by – never mind. The point is, I helped him escape, but we crashed. I don’t know if he made it. I’m sorry.” The sincerity in that last sentence finally persuaded the cat that this person wasn’t an enemy. He relaxed into his usual alert stillness, allowing the young man to scramble to his feet. Rey helped him without thinking. Her and BB’s pursuers hadn’t quite given up. She summarised as much of the situation as the man needed to know as she pulled him towards the nearest hiding place, BB loping alongside them with the stylus-thing in his mouth.</p><p>Finally safe, Rey realised that she hadn’t introduced herself. “I’m Rey, by the way.”</p><p>“Finn.” He hesitated a moment before giving his name. That wasn’t particularly unusual around there, where people often didn’t want to use their old names, or sometimes couldn’t remember them.</p><p>“Pleased to meet you.” She tried for a handshake, but got only a blank look in return. “And this is BB.”</p><p>“Hey.” Finn cautiously reached out towards the cat, who was giving him an oh-if-you-really-must look that was somehow the most catlike expression she’d seen on him. Finn scratched him behind the ears, hesitantly at first, before moving down to the soft fur under his chin. His expression as his hand brushed the cat’s tag was one of surprise, followed by horrified recollection. Rey <em>had</em> to know why. “What is it?”</p><p>Finn shifted BB’s collar so that the tag was visible. No, not the tag. Something that had been hidden behind it. Rey peered closer. A USB drive, one of the new ones, round and a little smaller than a twenty-pence coin. What was it doing there?</p><p>“Poe told me about this, but the crash must’ve driven it outta my head. There’s a map on it, to – someone important. It needs to get to the Shadowhunter Institute.”</p><p>“You mentioned Shadowhunters earlier. What are they?” Rey had heard the word before, in whispers and out of any helpful context.</p><p>“You don’t know?” Finn looked bemused for a moment, then relaxed. “Oh, yeah, you wouldn’t. They’re demon hunters. They have all sorts of superpowers – they’re stronger and faster than most people, they don’t get tired so easily, and they can kind of cast spells, using these.” He reached out for the stylus-thing, withdrawing his hand as BB gave a warning hiss. “People say it’s because they or their ancestors drank the blood of an angel. I don’t know whether that’s true, but their powers are.” He seemed lost in memory. Rey’s mind was suddenly racing as the words <em>Shadowhunter</em>, <em>demon</em>, <em>angel</em> rattled around in it. Finn’s description felt like part of a skeleton key to a lock in her brain. The mechanism was starting to move, but the door wouldn’t open just yet. She decided to distract herself.</p><p>“How do you know all this?”</p><p>He looked uncomfortable. “That’s… a long story. And it involves some people you do <em>not </em>want to meet. They’ll be looking for him.” He glanced towards BB, who had resumed his mini-lion pose. “We need to get him out of here, fast.”</p><p>Too late. Just then, all three of them became aware of shouting and the sounds of confusion, louder and more urgent than even the busiest of normal days. Then gunfire. Rey didn’t think twice before standing and picking up her staff. BB was also on his paws, ears flat against his skull, his posture screaming <em>ready to fight</em>. Finn looked at the pair of them in amazement. “What are you doing?”</p><p>“We can’t hide here for long, and people are in danger out there.” Rey was already moving towards the exit. “Do you know where this Institute is?”</p><p>“Maybe.” Again, he seemed cagey, holding something back. Once again, she didn’t have time for enquiries. “<em>Come on</em>, then!”</p><p>Rey might have an impulsive streak, but she was far from stupid. She knew where Unkar kept his collection of cars. <em>Working</em> cars, carefully restored with salvaged parts. She’d salvaged many of those herself, and had been underpaid for them often enough that she felt he owed her one, especially if it meant removing a threat from his establishment. With BB at her side and Finn close behind (it didn’t escape her notice that his right hand was never far from his holster, where BB had graciously allowed him to keep the stylus-thing), she made her way quickly and quietly towards them. She could see her colleagues being rounded up and held at gunpoint by men and women in uniforms suspiciously like Finn’s, although his was grey and theirs was white. One or two bodies already lay on the ground. She couldn’t let herself think about them. <em>Press on, press on.</em></p><p>Her heart jumped into her mouth when she saw one of the men who’d tried to capture BB earlier talking to the soldiers’ commander. They’d been right to leave their hiding place. It wasn’t exactly secret, except to Unkar’s men, and if the soldiers knew where BB had last been seen, they’d have been trapped. And she didn’t want to imagine how the soldiers might go about finding the locations of the boltholes. As it was, she had a chance to draw them away from the others and still be safe.</p><p>She and BB had been “talking” as they went. It was amazing how detailed the cat could make his expression, and how easily he understood her mix of whispers, expressions and gestures. Now he put the next part of the plan into operation, letting himself be seen as a ginger and white blur while she grabbed Finn’s hand and they ran for the car she’d earmarked earlier, an Aston Martin she’d heard described as a <em>Bondmobile</em>. It should do nicely as a getaway vehicle.</p><p>They never found out. Bullets flew around them as they sprinted towards the car, and one hit one of its tyres. Rey was surprised, in an absent sort of way, to find herself calming down even in the midst of danger. It was as though she’d been born to fight, to risk her life for others against the odds and find a way to win.</p><p>The next-nearest car was under a tarpaulin. Nobody knew what make it had been originally. Its old owner, or perhaps a succession of owners, had modified it out of all recognition. It looked like junk on wheels, but it went. It would have to do.</p><p>It wasn’t locked. Unkar didn’t believe anybody would dare steal from him. Rey slid into the driver’s seat, already figuring out the bypass system that allowed the car to be started without a key. Finn sat down heavily next to her and strapped himself in. A streak of colour raced through the driver’s door before she shut it and resolved itself on the back seat into BB, who dug all his claws into the upholstery and gave a peremptory <em>well-what-are-you-waiting-for?</em> meow. She didn’t need telling twice.</p><p>This was her first time actually behind the wheel outside the yard, but it didn’t feel like it. Not the strange born-for-this sense this time. She’d whiled away many hours on simulator games, traded for like the ancient console on which she played them. Mostly planes, but a fair number of cars too. Even so, the ease with which she handled the ancient contraption took her by surprise. So did the panel that slid out in front of Finn’s seat. He studied it with a disconcertingly professional air for a few seconds, then said, “This thing has <em>weapons systems</em>?”</p><p>“Can you use them to keep us safe?” Rey had no space in her brain for surprise, or anything beyond the steering wheel, pedals and gear stick. And the bullets still flying around them. Although the car seemed well armoured.</p><p>“Yeah, think so.” His voice was perfectly steady. Had <em>he</em> been born for this as well?</p><p>“Then do it!” It wasn’t just the stationary soldiers shooting at them now. They’d picked up some mobile pursuers, on motorcycles. Finn got to grips with the car’s inbuilt defences with remarkable speed. Rey had been going to ask him to try not to kill anyone, but it wasn’t necessary. He had good enough aim to take down the cycles, not the riders. Even so, some of those injuries looked nasty.</p><p>“Don’t worry.” Finn must have seen her expression. “Werewolves are tough.”</p><p>“They’re <em>werewolves</em>?”</p><p>“Yeah. Heavy infantry division. They must want you pretty badly.” This last sentence was directed to BB, still firmly attached to the back seat. “And where did you learn to <em>drive</em> like that?” They’d outrun all their enemies, thanks to a combination of his shooting and her driving. Something inside her had <em>known</em> the right way to weave and dodge to avoid the worst of the bullets, to send pursuing motorcycles veering helplessly off course, to adjust their trajectory to give Finn the best lines of fire. For his part, he hadn’t missed once, and some of those shots had been <em>spectacular</em>.</p><p>“I’ve test-driven a few of these, and spent a lot of time on simulators. But I’ve never done anything like this before. Where did you learn to <em>shoot </em>like that?”</p><p>“Something similar.” Again, he was holding back, and again she didn’t have time to probe. She wasn’t in control of the car any more. The antiquated GPS (probably among the first to be made) wasn’t just showing her their position. It had plotted a course and linked itself to the steering wheel. Even their combined strength wasn’t enough to budge it. The brakes wouldn’t respond. They had no choice but to sit tight and wait until they reached their destination.</p>
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<a name="section0004"><h2>4. The Smuggler</h2></a>
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    <p>Han Solo couldn’t suppress the grin that spread across his face as the battered old car (even <em>more</em> battered now, he was annoyed to see) glided to a halt in the basement of the safe-house he and his partner were using. He hadn’t exactly been optimistic that the crosslink between her GPS and her engine management system would hold up this long, given how much of a lash-up the thing was, but the old girl could always surprise him. As soon as the tracking beacon (also a jury-rig, and one about which he was usually uneasy) had alerted him that her engine was running and she was on the move, he’d activated the homing sequence. Well, not quite <em>as soon as</em>. Not until she was going in a straight line, rather than skidding about all over the place. He knew that pattern, usually from quite a different perspective. <em>They’d better not have damaged her.</em></p><p>“Chewie,” he said over his shoulder, “she’s home.”</p><p>Solo’s best friend growled in acknowledgement. Chewie (nobody, not even he, remembered his real name) was half-werewolf, half-true wolf, and in the opinion of everyone who had time to get to know him the best half of each. Solo had befriended him decades earlier, and they’d been practically inseparable ever since. They’d quickly lost track of who owed whom a life debt at any one time. Solo couldn’t ask for a better partner.</p><p>Or a better means of transport than the <em>Falcon</em>. Solo had won her in a game of cards shortly after meeting Chewie. The pair of them had poured enough of their hearts and souls into her that she was practically a person in her own right. The third member of their team. Or she had been, until some son of a selkie had swiped her. Solo didn’t like to think how that had happened. More precisely, he <em>couldn’t</em> think, or even remember, much about it. That had <em>not</em> been a good part of his life. But it was over now. She was back with them. All that remained was to see who had been driving her.</p><p>Checking that his revolver (a mundane weapon nobody, not even his wife, had made him give up) was in its holster and loaded, with the safety on, and that his emergency seraph blades were in their usual hiding places, he left the living/monitoring room and headed for the basement to find out just what kind of idiot would try anything with <em>his</em> car.</p><p>The first thing he noticed, though it didn’t shock him as much as it might have done others, was how <em>young</em> the driver and the human passenger were. The former was a girl, maybe nineteen, but with the eyes of someone who’d grown up too fast. He’d seen eyes like that too often. In the mirror, once. The latter was a young man, only a little older than his companion, with the same sense of accelerated maturity alongside a layer of what Solo would swear looked like military discipline. Neither had any visible Marks, not even Voyance. His own Mark would have shown him if they had. Not Clave, then. The cat on the back seat, though… He knew who owed <em>that</em> kind of cat, though he didn’t think he’d met this one. And Church’s family didn’t hang around normal mundanes. One or both of these two, probably both, was Sighted at the very least. That made sense. The boy’s outfit looked horribly familiar, like a cross between Shadowhunter gear and a mundane commando uniform. Solo double-checked his weapons as he approached the <em>Falcon</em>. He’d seen that uniform far too frequently recently.</p><p>He opted for a confrontational approach. It was faster, and even if the boy was armed he’d be hampered by his seatbelt and the car door on one side, and his companion on the other. Solo could see a quarterstaff wedged beside and a little behind the driver’s seat, a choice of weapon that spoke volumes about the girl to whom it presumably belonged. Besides, neither had the eyes of a killer, not that that was as reliable as some people thought. “What in Hades are you two doing in my car?”</p><p>“It’s a long story.” Part of him was pleased to see that the girl wasn’t scared of him in the least. He never knew how to react to pleading. He matched her firm tone. “Always is. Where’d you find her?”</p><p>“Jakku.” The girl hesitated a moment over the admission. He couldn’t blame her.</p><p>“That junkyard?” He knew the place by reputation. A good place to hide things – cars, people, pasts. But people normally ran <em>to</em> it, not away. All the same… “Figures.” If this girl had been living there, it would account for her air of being older than her years, and the skill he’d admired as he watched the tracking beacon’s progress. He took another look at the boy, noting the gunless holster with a <em>stele</em> stashed in it, and the way the discreet grey-on-grey insignia just below the shoulder had been scratched away with more passion than the young man was showing just then. Another runaway. “You’d better come with me.”</p><p>Upstairs in the main part of the safe-house, the <em>Falcon</em> safely locked away (Solo and Chewie had both shaken their heads in exasperation over the ham-handed modifications made to her since she’d first been stolen), Solo took stock once again of his uninvited guests. He couldn’t help liking the girl, Rey. For a start, she shared his feelings over what had been done to his car. And while she could clearly see Chewie for what he was, despite the glamour spell a warlock had once run up for him, she wasn’t shocked or scared, but chatted away happily, seeming to understand him much better than most people did. She understood the cat, too, who had been introduced as BB, paired with (no cat, least of all a Church-cat, is ever really owned) Poe Dameron, a Shadowhunter at the local Institute. Solo remembered him as a boy, only a few years older than his own son, and even more accident-prone. (He tore his thoughts away from that time as fast as he could. Those memories were linked to other, far more painful ones.) The boy, Finn, was warier, less at ease in these new surroundings. He could see Chewie’s true form, but couldn’t seem to understand him, or BB. Both made him uncomfortable. And he studiously avoided all discussion of how he’d come to run into (quite literally) Rey at Jakku, beyond a vague outline. He obviously hadn’t told Rey what he was, or had been, and it wasn’t Solo’s place to fill that gap. She’d work it out soon enough. Women always did. Always.</p><p>Their conversation hadn’t got far beyond the facts that BB needed to get back to the Institute as fast as possible, and had some very persistent and well-armed people on his tail, when the intruder alarm sounded. Ordering Rey and Finn into a back room, Solo checked the monitor to see who wanted his attention that badly.</p><p>He groaned as he identified the unwelcome visitors. Bala-Tik ran one of the nastier gangs on the fringes of the local Downworld. Mundanes with the Sight, like Bala-Tik himself (ridiculous name), and half-weres and part-fae who hadn’t been as lucky as Chewie. Solo ran through his recent deals. He didn’t think he owed Bala-Tik anything, but his memory wasn’t as good as it had once been, and even a Mnemosyne rune wouldn’t have kept a deal with this lot in his mental account book if it wasn’t wanted. All the same, best to go and see what they wanted. Brazen it out. If it was just a shakedown, he could talk his way out of it.</p><p>Halfway through his best attempt at doing that, another alleged client turned up, also spoiling for a fight. Kanjiklub. A delegation led by Tasu Leech in person. The warlock was currently allied with Bala-Tik in the constantly shifting network of allegiances that made up the parts of Downworld Shadowhunters rarely found out about, unfortunately for Solo. He was doing his best to extricate himself from a suddenly <em>very</em> sticky situation when a roar from further inside reminded him of the cargo he’d had in storage in a back room – the back room where he’d told his other guests to hide. Rathtar demons. Why in this world or any other had he agreed to that contract?</p><p>Whatever the reason, he now had to deal with its consequences. So did his erstwhile clients. Rathtar demons were constantly hungry, and they liked some variety in their diet. Both the Guavian Death Gang (Bala-Tik was <em>hopeless</em> with names) and Kanjiklub were too busy not being eaten to notice him and Chewie diving, hacking and shooting their way through flailing tentacles towards Finn, Rey and BB – if they were still alive.</p><p>They were. The humans had found shelter under a desk, Rey trying to hold a now ichor-stained and furious BB still. As neither human was armed, bar Rey’s staff, which could only make things worse, that was an eminently sensible option. One of Solo’s emergency seraph blades and a scattering of electrum-tipped bolts from Chewie’s crossbow cut a path to the hidden exit every room in each of his safe-houses had. One Mark to open it; another to close it, not quite fast enough. He was out of practice. The tentacle that had been sliced off by the door thrashed around as they raced for the next room, nearly knocking Finn down. Rey steered him clear just in time. Solo hadn’t seen reflexes like that in years. He couldn’t think about that now. The Mark-locked doors ought to be Rathtar-proof, and he’d triggered the security shutters as soon as he could, but who knew how far the things had got? <em>They’d better not have hurt the </em>Falcon.</p><p>They hadn’t. The basement was Rathtar-free, although a too-close roaring suggested that this state of affairs wouldn’t last. All five of them piled into the <em>Falcon</em>, Solo driving, Chewie beside him and the others in the back. There was no question of BB wearing a seatbelt, but he dug his claws into the middle seat, adding a fresh lot of tears and some ichor stains. Oh well. She’d seen worse. Chewie wrestled with the transmitter that ought to unlock the external doors. Another jury-rig. Still working, though, just about. As they made for the widening gap, a tentacle lashed towards them, and was neatly severed by the <em>Falcon’</em>s passenger-side guns. Where there were tentacles, there would soon be the rest of the Rathtar demon, and it knew there was something alive here now. They needed to <em>go</em>.</p><p>“Hold on!” Solo didn’t know why he was shouting, given how close his audience was. “I’m gonna use the supercharger.”</p><p>“That doesn’t sound good.” Finn’s voice was only just audible. Sparing a split-second to check on his passengers, Solo saw that the humans were reaching for one another’s hands, the way best friends might. BB had flattened himself against his seat and probably found another few millimetres of claw from somewhere. Solo couldn’t blame any of them.</p><p>“This is <em>not</em> how I thought this day was going to go,” he muttered as the supercharger kicked in. The burst of acceleration probably scared the living daylights, or whatever they had, out of the demon that had just reached for them, and might have given its tentacle a nasty friction burn. Solo was more worried about the external door. It was almost wide enough, but would <em>almost</em> do?</p><p>Just about. They made it with half an inch of clearance. The remnants of Solo’s training and Marks were barely sufficient to swing round and stay on the road, rather than plough into the houses opposite, as Chewie sent the “close” signal to the basement door. The last thing they wanted was Rathtar demons wandering around looking for a meal. Locked in the house, they’d find their way back to their own dimension, starve to death or eat each other. Another contract gone west, but Solo had the feeling it didn’t matter. He’d just been marking time until the call to action came again, and it looked as though it had. That didn’t mean he had to answer it the way people wanted.</p><p>He slowed down to within the speed limit as soon as he safely could. No point risking an accident, even in such a sparsely populated area. “You all right back there?” Two <em>yes</em>es and a purr answered him. He set course for a location he already knew by heart. Every Downworlder in the city did.</p><p>“Where are we going?”, Rey wanted to know. Of course she did.</p><p>“To see an old friend. Someone who’ll be able to help. You need to get BB to the Institute fast, right?”</p><p>“Can’t you take us?” Finn was sharper than Solo had thought. “You’re a Shadowhunter, aren’t you?”</p><p>“I was.” Solo tried to keep his voice steady. “I retired a while back.”</p><p>“You can do that?”</p><p>“Yeah. It’s not common, but it does happen. Besides, I’m not exactly welcome at the Institute these days.” He did his best to lace that last sentence with <em>don’t ask why</em>, and Finn took the hint, thankfully.</p><p>They drove on in silence. Their destination wasn’t far away. Solo found them a parking space, trusting in the <em>Falcon</em>’s glamour to avoid tickets, and Chewie opted to check her for damage while the others made their way to a building that had served the same purpose, and had the same owner, for centuries. The names over the door and on the paperwork might change now and again, as did the décor, but to everyone connected to Oxford’s Downworld it would always just be Maz’s place.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. The Warlock</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Han Solo!”</p><p>Maz Kanata’s greeting to one of her most troublesome customers (which was saying a lot) momentarily silenced the entire bar. That was her intention. She liked Han, but the <em>baka</em> did need taking down a peg or two at regular intervals. Judging by the look on his face, she’d done just that.</p><p>He recovered quickly. This was far from their first sparring match. “Hey, Maz.”</p><p>“Where’s my boyfriend?” A set gambit in a game they’d played many times before.</p><p>“Chewie’s working on the <em>Falcon</em>.”</p><p>“I like that man.” Traditional informalities exchanged, Maz assessed the people Han had brought with him. A girl, a boy and a cat. The girl appeared new to Downworld, and entranced by it (Maz had to check that none of her fae customers were trying anything). She clearly had the Sight, at the very least, and maybe something more, going by the way she moved when not paying conscious attention. The boy was less at home here, constantly reading the room, expecting attack. She noted the gunbelt without a gun around his waist, and the way his clothes both didn’t fit him and looked rather more like something of Solo’s. She could guess what he’d been wearing before, but it was no time or place to judge or comment – yet. And lastly, the cat. A Church-cat for certain. There was no disguising that family, and they generally didn’t bother to try, except to mundanes. This would be interesting.</p><p>Introductions made and a semi-secluded table found, Solo gave her a quick summary of the situation as he understood it. The cat, BB, was carrying information that would enable the Shadowhunters to find and bring back their missing member, Luke Skywalker, but only if he got back to the Institute before anyone else found him. Maz had known Luke reasonably well. A brilliant Shadowhunter, if  foolhardy even by their generous standards. She couldn’t blame him, though it had surprised her a little, for choosing the role of tutor at his sister’s Institute. Or for his flight after the fiasco that had torn their family apart. She <em>could</em> blame him for not returning of his own accord when it became clear that he was needed. Tracking, by both runes and spells, had failed. Fire-messages went astray. Portals couldn’t get a lock on him. He was hidden from all magical means of location and communication, but maybe mundane ones could succeed.</p><p>But the data that would enable that could <em>not</em> be allowed to fall into the wrong hands. Maz had seen how both Solo and the boy, Finn, skirted the issue of <em>whose</em> hands those would be, and the girl, Rey, clearly didn’t have a clue. Maz’s patience was finite. “So, you want me to help you get this cat to the Institute before the First Order catches up with you.”</p><p>Exactly the reactions she’d expected. Solo: resignation, old guilt and pain. Finn: surprise and fresh guilt he probably thought he was hiding. Rey: bemusement. BB: an angry hiss and a flex of claws.</p><p>Solo recovered first. “I didn’t say it was the First Order.”</p><p>“Who else would it be?” Despite the seriousness of the situation, Maz was still enjoying herself.</p><p>“What’s the First Order?” Rey was <em>very</em> new to Downworld. Maz shot a your-turn look to Finn, who sighed a little, but took the hint.</p><p>“They’re the people chasing us. Kind of an army, fighting against the Shadowhunters. You saw the werewolves, back at Jakku?” Rey did, all too clearly, it seemed. “That’s just one unit. Not even a high-up one. They’ve got vampires, fae, a handful of warlocks – even some Shadowhunters who’ve turned against the Clave.” Solo’s slight wince at that was almost undetectable. “And mundanes with the Sight, like us. They’re powerful, and getting stronger. We can’t fight them, not on our own. I’m not sure even the Shadowhunters can.”</p><p>“Tell her how you know all this.” Maz was a firm believer in having everything out in the open.</p><p>Finn looked even more awkward than ever, but managed to get the words out. “I was one of them. Until yesterday. They took me from my family when I was too young to remember. Trained me to fight. But, my first battle – I made a choice. I wasn’t going to kill. Not for them. So I ran. Straight into you two.” He glanced at BB, who had narrowed his eyes, but seemed satisfied with Finn’s story. “Now we need to get him to the Institute and get out of here.” He switched his attention to Maz. “How’d you know what I was?”</p><p>“When you live long enough, you see the same eyes in different people. I’m looking at a man who wants to run.” Maz indicated a pair of werewolves at another table. “Those two tour the Shadow Markets. They go all over the world, and they’re always looking for help. You’ll be safe with them. Go on.” Finn hesitated, looking at Rey, but stood and went over to the men Maz had pointed out. Rey followed. Maz decided not to eavesdrop on what should be a private conversation. Rey had accepted Finn’s former identity quite easily. Had she had some idea beforehand? As the two young people argued, Maz and Han got down to practical matters. Since the First Order had started to show itself, all Institutes had been warded against externally opened Portals, the Oxford Institute especially. They couldn’t just Portal BB straight there. And a cat appearing from nowhere, even a Church-cat, always had the potential to attract attention. They’d have to pick their spot carefully.</p><p>They were still debating when Maz realised that Rey, giving up on changing Finn’s mind, had wandered into her storerooms as though called by someone – or something. Maz couldn’t let anyone wander around in there. Her bar was well known as a strongroom for unusual objects. Who knew what kind of trouble the girl could find?</p><p>Excusing herself, she followed Rey as fast as she could, once again cursing the fact that she’d stopped ageing as a small child – which looked odd with the deep creases across her face that, along with her flat nose, were her mark –  and therefore couldn’t keep up with most adults very easily. Her father had a <em>lot</em> to answer for. (Her demon father, that was. Her human father had been a different cauldron of broth entirely, which was why she’d kept his last name, honouring a human who’d raised a too-clearly half-<em>oni</em> child as his own.) She caught up to the young woman just in time. Rey had been drawn to possibly the most powerful artifact in Maz’s keeping. Maellartach. The Mortal Sword. The look of pure terror on her face as she held it confirmed Maz’s suspicions about her ancestry, but was cause for more immediate concern.</p><p>Trying to take the sword off her would not end well for either of them, she suspected. She opted for a gentle tap on Rey’s arm, startling the girl enough to bring her out of the trance, the hilt slipping from her fingers. The sword clattered harmlessly to the floor. Ignoring it for the present, Maz guided the shaken young woman to one of the other storage crates and scrambled up onto a third so that her face was level with Rey’s. After a few minutes, Rey had calmed down enough to ask, “What <em>is</em> that?”</p><p>“The Mortal Sword.” Maz kept her voice level, soothing. “One of the Angel Raziel’s three gifts to Jonathan Shadowhunter, nine hundred years ago. A powerful weapon in the fight against evil – in the right hands.”</p><p>“It – called to me.” Rey was still catching her breath. “It knew my name. When I held it, it – spoke to me. Showed me things.” She didn’t want to go into detail, and Maz knew better than to press her.</p><p>“The Soul-Sword has always had the ability to draw the truth from those who hold it. When it was broken and reforged, some years ago, that ability may have been strengthened.” Maz met Rey’s eyes, reading them like a book. “But it only affects Shadowhunters.”</p><p>“I’m – not a Shadowhunter.” Rey’s voice was flat. The visions, whatever they had been, had depleted her emotions. “I’m just Rey.”</p><p>“You <em>are</em> a Shadowhunter.” Maz made the statement as emphatic as she could. “The blood of Raziel is in your veins. Your parents sought to hide you, to protect you, but you belong with your own kind.” She glanced down at the sword, still on the ground. “Maellartach knows that.”</p><p>Rey still didn’t seem convinced. Maz sympathised. This had to be a lot to take in. But she had to know the truth, and now was the best time. Maz slid off the crate and picked up the sword, offering it to Rey. “Take it. Close your eyes and ask the sword to show you who you are.”</p><p>“I’m never touching that thing again.” Rey must be feeling better. “I don’t want any part of this.” She stood, turned and ran from the room. Out of the back entrance, into the park behind the bar. Maz put the blade down carefully and was about to follow when Finn entered from the other direction, in a state of some agitation and with BB close behind. “The First Order – they’re here. Where’s Rey?”</p><p>Maz muttered something uncomplimentary in her native language. At full volume, she told him where the girl had gone. BB raced after her before she could finish. Maz cursed again, sentiments Finn’s expression echoed. She could see a change in him. Now that push had come to shove, he no longer wanted to run. He wanted to protect his own. He just needed the right encouragement. “What are you waiting for? Go after them!”</p><p>“I need a weapon!”</p><p>Maz picked up the Soul-Sword again. As a Downworlder, it didn’t affect her, or Finn when she pushed it into his hands. “You have one!”</p><p>Finn could see that this was no time for arguments. He raced after Rey and BB, while Maz returned to her customers to see just how much trouble they were in.</p><p>Not much, thanks to the defences she and a few friends had put together over the years, and Solo and Chewie outside the front door, expertly ducking and dodging as they led the invaders out into the open and away from any likelihood of civilian casualties. Maz’s bar, which in its current incarnation was called Takodana, was official neutral ground and a safe haven for both Downworlders and Shadowhunters, as was the area of park and woodland behind it, protected from mundane interference by a powerful glamour. If the fighting could be contained there, so much the better all round. It wasn’t ideal, given that that was where Rey and BB had gone, but despite being a lifelong non-combatant Maz knew that there were no ideal situations in war.</p><p>The last of the First Order troops (three detachments, one each from the mundane, werewolf and fae divisions) had been successfully decoyed away from the building. Maz, satisfied that the shields would hold in case of emergency, turned her attention back to her customers, sparing a corner of her mind to work out how the First Order had known that their target was here. It wasn’t hard. She had a pretty good idea which of her regulars were informants for which power blocs, and had seen a fae woman she was certain was in the Order’s pay making a phone call as Solo had been explaining the situation. She’d also seen the tell-tale flash of light that meant a Shadowhunter fire-message elsewhere in the room. The Nephilim would also be here soon.</p><p>Her thoughts were interrupted by a news bulletin on the bar’s television. It was permanently tuned to the DBC, Downworld’s own broadcasting service. The images on the screen now froze her blood. There had been an attack on the Shadowhunter capital, Alicante. The Hall of the Accords had been destroyed. Confirmed casualties included the Shadowhunter Consul and many other high-ranking Nephilim and Downworlders. Every mobile phone in the room, including Maz’s, was buzzing, ringing or being used to try to contact loved ones who had been in Idris for the renewing of the Accords. Maz checked her own phone and breathed a sigh of relief. Some of her friends, at least, had survived. It would take a <em>lot</em> to bring down Magnus Bane or anyone under his protection, for a start. But her heart still broke for those who had not been so lucky, and her mind was filled with fear for the future. This was a show of force, a declaration of intent. Things were going to get a great deal worse very soon.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I'm aware that "oni" is a specific type of Japanese demon, but I don't know the usual generic term. If anyone can correct me, I'd be most grateful.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. The Apprentice</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Something to bear in mind, especially later on: this is the narrator's internal monologue, and he isn't necessarily in possession of as many facts as he thinks he is.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Kylo Ren allowed himself a touch of pride in his own self-discipline as he stalked through the woodland behind Takodana, senses alert for his quarry. His master had doubted that he could carry this mission through, knowing that Han Solo would be involved, but Ren had assured him that the man meant nothing to him now. He was an opponent, no more. It had been easy to evade him and his hybrid partner, their attention all on staying alive against superior numbers and firepower. Ren had found it harder to ignore the traitor who now fought alongside them, wielding the Angel Blade as though he had any right to it, than the man whose blood flowed in his veins.</p><p>His grandfather would have understood, perhaps. Had there been any justice in the world, Anakin Skywalker would be remembered as a visionary, like Valentine Morgenstern a generation later. Why <em>should</em> the children of Raziel stay in the shadows, less than servants to lesser beings? The Accords reformed, Downworlders kept in their proper place, Nephilim recognised for what they were, demons used for their power and not killed on sight – what was so wrong with that? That was what Anakin had believed, and he hadn’t been afraid to say so in public – or eliminate those who tried to stop him. But the Clave had refused to see things his way, and had exiled him. Even his secret wife, a mundane woman for whom he’d risked everything, hadn’t agreed with his goals, leaving their children to be raised by the Clave when she died of grief. The children had been Anakin’s undoing. When Valentine’s Circle had risen and tried to remake the Nephilim, Anakin had returned, initially fighting alongside the Circle, but switching sides at the last minute, sacrificing his life to defend his son. Ren didn’t intend to make <em>that</em> mistake. His ideals had to override any lingering family loyalty.</p><p>He pulled his thoughts back to the present. The cat he sought was up ahead, a blur of motion threading its way through the trees, occasionally resolving into a clawed, fanged ball of fur and fury which disabled any soldier that got too near it. Nearby, seemingly irrelevant but impossible to ignore, the last member of the cat’s entourage was fighting a Seelie knight, staff against sword, and winning. Ren took a moment to study her. The reports from Jakku had been sketchy in the extreme when it came to this girl, but he already knew that she had a reputation for being able to take care of herself, and was an excellent driver. Now he thought he knew part of the reason for that. She had no visible Marks, but the way she moved was very reminiscent of a half-trained Shadowhunter child, too young to bear runes but with the natural talent that came with Clave blood. Who <em>was</em> this young woman?</p><p>Whatever else she might be, she was a good fighter. The fae’s guard finally slipped enough for her to land a crippling strike to the solar plexus, followed in the same movement by a knockout blow to the head. As her opponent fell, she bent down for just a moment to check on him, then straightened, looking around for the next threat. She froze as her gaze locked with Ren’s. So did he, noticing something else the reports had failed to mention. She was <em>beautiful</em>.</p><p>The spell was quickly broken as Ren registered that the sounds of battle behind him had changed. The Clave had arrived. In force, if he was any judge. There was no time to lose. The cat was out of sight, and he knew he had no chance of finding it again now. But this girl – she’d know where it was going. She might even have seen the map he sought. Before she could work out whether he was friend or foe, he cast a sleeping-spell, catching her as she folded up, staff slipping from her grasp, and gathering her into his arms. Focusing on the Order’s nearest base, he opened a Portal and stepped through it. As he looked back to close it again, his eyes met those of the man he’d been so careful to avoid earlier. Solo surely couldn’t see his face past the mask, but he still seemed about to speak as Ren erased the Portal from existence, banishing his father from both sight and mind.</p>
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<a name="section0007"><h2>7. The General</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This is where I had to get a little creative with my parallels. If it's too ridiculous, please say.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“You changed your hair.”</p><p>Of all the things Leia Skywalker might have expected to hear from her husband after so many years’ separation, that had not been high on the list. She realised now that it possibly should have been. It was so very <em>him</em>. She responded in kind. “Same jacket.”</p><p>“No, new jacket.”</p><p>By the Angel, she’d missed this. She’d missed <em>him</em>. Not that she was going to give him the satisfaction of knowing that. They were interrupted by her cat, C3 (short for Charles Christian Church; Leia didn’t know what her grandmother had been thinking when she named him), greeting Han with his best effort at enthusiasm. Han had never really taken to C3, but he saluted his wife’s companion courteously enough, and almost managed to hide his relief when a ginger and white streak resolved into BB, distracting his gold-furred kinscat. Leia understood. She didn’t know how an Institute-bred cat could be so averse to Shadowhunting, but they both made the best of it. C3 was an excellent research assistant, with a nose (but not stomach) for trouble that had saved many people a lot of time in the past.</p><p>Leia gave her surroundings a quick once-over. The battle had been deadly but swift. By the time she’d come through the Portal to Takodana, the fighting was already over. Bodies lay on the ground, not as many as she’d feared and some still breathing. Far more FO soldiers than Shadowhunters among the casualties. A fair number of the fallen soldiers had bullet wounds from Han’s wretched revolver, or had been hit by Chewie’s crossbow bolts. She’d know his style of making them anywhere. Just as she thought this, her husband’s best friend appeared from nowhere and pulled her into a bear-hug, which she returned in full. Had Chewie been a Shadowhunter, he and Han would surely have been <em>parabatai</em>, brothers in all but blood, which would have made him her brother-in-law. Even as things were, there was still a powerful bond between the three of them – four, counting her biological brother.</p><p>She let herself enjoy this reunion with two of her other-selves for just a handful of heartbeats longer, before pulling away and returning to her duty. The Order had sent at least three detachments in this time, learning from their previous mistakes – not well enough. Han, Chewie and Finn – she had yet to meet the defector from the Order who’d rescued one of her protégés, but looked forward to it – had managed to hold their own, keeping the fighting localised and civilian casualties to none whatsoever, until reinforcements had arrived. Leia had only been able to send her own Enclave, the Council being notoriously slow to respond to any non-demonic threat at the best of times, but they had been enough to force a retreat within minutes. Or that was what the initial reports suggested. As Leia listened to them, she knew that Han was dying to tell her something the others shouldn’t hear.</p><p>He had his opportunity soon enough. When they were sure Poe and Tallie, her field commanders, were safely out of earshot, he said, without preamble, “I saw him, Leia. I saw our son. He was here.”</p><p>Well, she should have expected that. The part of her that was pure Shadowhunter, head of an Institute, a general in their ceaseless war, knew that it was logical for the Supreme Leader to send his apprentice for a mission of this importance. Her mother’s heart, though, threatened to break all over again as she thought of what her son had become. She forced herself to tamp down those feelings and ask, as calmly as possible, for details, praying that Han could read and understand her emotions and reasoning. She was as sure as she could be that he did. Apparently BB and Finn had been found and helped by a homeless girl Han was fairly confident had Clave blood. After some kind of argument with Maz (Leia made a mental note to talk to the warlock as soon as possible) she’d run off into the woods. Finn and BB had followed her, but Finn had been too busy fighting to keep up. Kylo Ren (it was easier to think of him under that title) had tracked the others, but for some reason taken Rey prisoner instead of BB, and left through a Portal. The Order troops had begun to retreat moments later. Leia stored all this information, analysing it as clinically as she was capable of doing. Rescuing this girl had to be on the priority list, although not necessarily at the top. Stopping what had just happened in Idris from happening again was surely more important than anything else. But if Rey could help them with that… Leia had enough self-honesty to admit that she also didn’t like the idea of leaving the girl in such a situation. She’d been in her shoes a few times, at about the same age, but at least she’d had her training to help her. Rey would have to survive on her wits for now.</p><p>These were issues best considered in a well-stocked library. Leia could see that the wounded had now all been treated and the area swept for stragglers. The few surviving soldiers left behind had been taken prisoner, but Leia doubted they’d tell them much. The Order didn’t tend to let its lower ranks in on grand plans for exactly this reason, and there was always the strong possibility of a captured soldier preferring death to even gentle interrogation by persuasion runes. She never liked such occurrences, but was all too often powerless to stop them. The Portal through which she had arrived was still active; she set about organising their return home. Satisfied once again that everything was under control, she turned back to Han. “Do you remember where the Institute is?”</p><p>“How could I forget?” The old scoundrel grin, now edged with sadness. Would she ever see the original version again?</p><p>“I’ll see you there, then. If that piece of rubbish you call a car makes it in one piece.” She knew he knew she was teasing. She had a deep respect for the <em>Falcon</em>. The old girl had saved their necks on too many occasions to count.</p><p>Interrupting Poe’s joyful reunion with BB and Finn, who had feared him dead, she followed the rest of the Shadowhunters through the Portal, closing it behind them. The library was controlled chaos. The small proportion of her Enclave who hadn’t been at Takodana had been working overtime to make sense of the news from Idris. The Hall of the Accords had been torn to shreds. Seventy percent of its occupants were dead, and another twenty wounded, many seriously. As far as anyone could make out, the First Order had combined mundane bomb-making techniques with demon-summoning rituals. Those who escaped death when the missile had first exploded had been vulnerable to the vengeful entities that had been trapped in it. It was a masterpiece of engineering, with a lethal purpose. The only good points from their perspective were the considerable time and effort it must take to prepare such a weapon, its limited lifespan once made, and the consequent short operational range. As Han, Chewie and Finn arrived, Leia was assessing a series of reports that an unscheduled, unmarked train had arrived at Alicante’s new, long-overdue station shortly before the blast, and left shortly after it. None of these reports came from the station itself. Its personnel had no recollection of such an event. Leia could only come to one conclusion. The <em>encanto</em>, over a wide area. General Hux.</p><p>Poe’s timing as he dragged Finn over to introduce him to Leia was impeccable. She admired the young man’s courage in breaking away from the Order, and made sure to tell him so before wringing every detail of this new weapon that he knew out of him. He was only too happy to oblige. His report confirmed their guesses, and added some new data. The train was well shielded from physical and magical attack, in addition to being warlock-glamoured. It was intended to be a mobile base as well as a weapon. The Order’s new headquarters. Much of its High Command would be there already, including Kylo Ren, as well as four battalions of soldiers and the warlocks who had helped create the weapon. There was some good news, as well. They’d been right; the weapon had a very limited range. It could also only be armed while the train was stationary. Unfortunately, the shields were set up to let people and objects out, but nothing larger than an air molecule in without permission. Leia was about to ask how easy it would be to board the train while it was moving and drop the shields from inside when Kaydel, her best researcher, called to her. They’d found a way to track their enemy.</p><p>Tracking was a standard Shadowhunter and warlock technique, but it required having something belonging to the person being tracked. While he’d been held captive, Poe had had the foresight to remove a button from General Hux’s coat when he’d “accidentally” stumbled into him. Given the reports from Alicante, it was a safe bet that the vampire was on the train. And the shields didn’t ward against tracking. Their enemies were speeding through France, headed back to England. Leia had a horrible feeling she could guess their next target. It would be an Institute for certain. Not London; during the Dark War, it had been found that it had unique protection. York was too remote. And Leia and her Enclave had been a thorn in the Order’s side for years. This was where they would attack. And as they still had Poe’s crossbow, they could track him as easily as Kaydel was tracking them.</p><p>General Hux wasn’t the Shadowhunters’ only target. Finn had retrieved Rey’s staff, and passed it on to Kaydel in the hope of finding his friend. She had. In the same place as Hux. Rey was also on the train. Leia knew the defector was going to volunteer for the boarding party long before he did so.</p><p>The plan of campaign came together quickly. Han, Chewie and Finn would be the first wave. The train was warded against Portals opened from outside it, but Han had a way to get around that, one he refused to tell her. Typical. Those of the Enclave still in fighting condition would keep the enemy busy until the shields were down. Once they were, one of the Tico sisters, Paige, had put together something that ought to reverse the weapon’s operation. It would send the energies that should go into summoning demons surging out through the train’s power circuits. Leia tuned out as Paige tried to explain. She and her sister were experts on fusing magical and mundane systems, which was why they had chosen the name Wayland after the legendary smith as their official surname, but Leia rarely understood more than a third of what they did. All she cared about was the end result.</p><p>Poe volunteered to lead the attack party. Leia had expected that, too. He never missed out on a scrap, and this one was personal. Besides, he was the most talented fighter she had by a long way, and lucky to boot. BB would be by his side, of course. Leia trusted the cat with any life one cared to name.</p><p>All too soon, tracking indicated that the train was passing Radley. They had to go now to have any chance of stopping the weapon in time. The boarding party were fully kitted out, and someone had found a sheath for the Mortal Sword from somewhere. Finn had already shown himself fully capable of using it, and what the Council didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them. Leia followed the men out to the <em>Falcon</em>, needing some privacy to say goodbye to Han. Finn and Chewie, reading the situation, were already in the car and doing their best to look busy.</p><p>Leia went first. “You know, no matter how much we fought… I’ve always hated watching you leave.”</p><p>Han tried for his old smile once again. “That’s why I did it. So you’d miss me.”</p><p>“I did miss you.” Han wrapped his arms around her, and she returned the gesture, unable to shake the feeling that this might be their last chance to do this. Still, there was something she had to say. “If you see our son – bring him home.”</p><p>Han said nothing, but held her a little more tightly. They stayed like that a few moments longer, until Chewie’s polite growl reminded them that they had things to do and places to be.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. The Vampire</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>As General Hux paced the length of the carriage for the hundred and sixth time in a row, he wondered once again whether Ren had actually taken leave of his senses this time. The Supreme Leader’s orders had been explicit: find the map to Skywalker, with or without the cat in whose custody it had been left. Hux had never thought Ren very bright, but surely even he could tell the difference between a ginger and white cat and a brown-haired human girl. And yet, ordered to bring back the former, he’d turned up with an unconscious specimen of the latter category.</p><p>Hux didn’t actually mind his rival making a fool of himself – in fact, part of him positively welcomed it – but compromising the Order was a sin he could not forgive. His sole, slender hope now was that the girl really <em>had</em> seen the map, or knew where it was. If not – if the Shadowhunters had it, and made use of it – things could go very badly for the cause to which he had dedicated his existence for decades.</p><p>In an effort to distract himself from that which he could not change, he allowed himself to dwell on the success of his weapon’s first use. He didn’t particularly enjoy killing, and permitted himself a sliver of regret over the Downworlders caught in the blast radius, traitors though they had been. But to bring down the Nephilim, to shatter the chains with which they had bound his kind for so long, sacrifices had to be made. And as pure technical achievements, the weapon and the mobile base which housed it – he’d pretended not to hear some of the soldiers, the ones who had had some sort of life before the Order, call it <em>the Starkiller Express</em>, not least because it meant admitting that he understood the reference – were feats of which he could justly be proud.</p><p>Things had been <em>better</em> before the Accords, he knew. His sire had never stopped going on about what life had been like before vampires were fettered by the Nephilim’s ridiculous ideas of right and wrong. Why could his people not be allowed to make their own decisions, live their own lives (as it were)? (At this point, Hux always had to pull back a little, detaching pure thought from memory. While he owed a great deal to the man who had taken him in, giving him his own name, the first security he had ever known, and when the time came ageless immortality and all the other benefits of being Turned, some of his memories – all right, <em>many</em> of his memories – of Brendol were… not good. Not including the very last ones.) The sooner that past once again became present, the better. It wasn’t <em>his</em> fault not all his kind could see it.</p><p>Ren, he knew, felt quite differently. The fallen Shadowhunter could never quite disguise his contempt for Downworlders, or his desire to reform the Accords rather than abolish them. It was one reason Hux would not be remotely unhappy should Ren make a fatal mistake. This latest slip could be it.</p><p>Speaking of which… Hux turned his attention to the monitors displaying the camera feed from the girl’s cell. She had woken up at last, despite more of Ren’s foolishness. Using an <em>iratze</em> rune on someone who had not been proved to be of Shadowhunter blood – that had been reckless in the extreme. If Ren had been wrong, the <em>best</em> outcome would have been her death. It would have been so much safer to call in a warlock to deal with the injuries she had received in the battle at Takodana, but Ren never listened to reason.</p><p>A smile touched Hux’s lips as he watched the girl argue with Ren. By Abaddon, she was good. Half a dozen sentences in, she had convinced him to remove his mask, something Hux had only seen the Supreme Leader manage up until then. Ridiculous affectation. <em>Ren</em> wasn’t the one who couldn’t go out in daylight without burning to ash. But he was fighting back. Hux almost flinched in sympathy with the girl as Ren went on the offensive, taunting her about her parents, who must have abandoned her. That was something Hux understood only too well. That, and how it felt to have someone else in one’s own head. It took more emotional control than Hux had needed in years not to exhibit his satisfaction when she turned Ren’s abilities back on him, with some gift of her own behind that. She had <em>no</em> qualms about picking up on and using Ren’s greatest weakness, one Hux had seen early on in their acquaintance but never managed to turn against him. His fear of not living up to the standards he set for himself, spurred on by the idealised image of his forebears. <em>Shadowhunters</em>. Even when they turned their backs on their immediate families, their ancestry stayed with them. Hux was glad he had no such problems. Brendol could never have dreamed of the things his former subjugate had already achieved, let alone the things he planned to do.</p><p>Having nothing better to occupy his time, Hux continued to watch the girl after Ren had stormed out. It was certainly safer than being around the corrupted Nephilim when he was in a bad mood. Everyone in the Order knew to look the other way and discreetly arrange for the damage to be repaired. Hux’s mind drifted aimlessly hither and thither until the camera feed caught his attention again. The girl was talking to her guard, telling him to remove her restraints and leave the cell with the door open. And drop his gun. <em>And he was obeying.</em> Who – what – <em>was</em> this girl? She must have Clave blood, or else she wouldn’t have survived being Marked and remained sane, but Shadowhunters normally needed runes for such things. She bore none, bar the <em>iratze</em> Ren had used, and had neither <em>stele</em> nor the freedom of movement necessary to use it. And probably wouldn’t know a persuasion rune from a Portal. This was something he’d only seen from Ren, and occasionally read about in texts the Nephilim had forgotten existed. She had to be stopped and more carefully restrained, fast.</p><p>He was halfway through reaching for the intercom to give the seek-and-capture order when an emergency report came in over the main speaker system. They were under attack. Somehow, the Clave had found them. The girl would have to wait. He would be needed to coordinate the counterattack <em>and</em> the planned assault on the Institute. No rest for the wicked…</p>
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<a name="section0009"><h2>9. The Fae</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><em>How in all the realms did they find us?</em> Captain Phasma spared a small part of her intellect (which was more powerful than most people realised) to answer this question as she passed on her General’s orders, applying her own initiative to them to maximise her section’s impact on the enemy, and their chances of survival. Just as her commander knew she would. The pair of them had been a formidable team for longer than either cared to remember, united by their hatred of Nephilim oppression and of certain people in particular. Kylo Ren sprang to mind, though she carefully kept such treasonous thoughts below the surface. One day the fallen Shadowhunter would slip up, as Brendol had, and she would be waiting for him.</p><p>First things first. She could answer her own question relatively easily. The General had been missing a button on his coat the last time she had seen him, which was unusual in the normally fastidious vampire. If the Nephilim they had captured had taken it, tracking would have been a simple matter once he reached his Institute. She cursed under her breath in her native tongue as she recalled how the Shadowhunter had escaped. FN-2187 had been a favourite of hers, although she had taken care not to show it. Officer material for certain. And now <em>Clave</em> material, she wouldn’t be surprised to see.</p><p>Her animosity towards the Clave ran even deeper than her superior officer’s. At least <em>his</em> people had some sort of protection from both demons and overzealous Angel-spawn. The Cold Peace had made <em>her</em> people outcasts, pariahs, denied the safety of the Accords. The Clave had even turned against those of its own who were of fae blood for a time. And for all the Lightwood boy’s fine words about re-establishing equality, he had not repaired all the damage the treaty had done, and the nonentity who succeeded him had had little or no interest in continuing that work. Ah well. The man was dead, and good riddance. Let the Nephilim try to salvage their precious Accords <em>now</em>.</p><p>Not that the Accords had favoured the children of Faerie at the best of times. All over that silly misunderstanding a couple of centuries back. Why <em>shouldn’t</em> the Queen have a little fun now and again? And it was well known that a mutual foe could bring warring groups together. How could she have known that the demon attack would have driven those particular factions apart? Mortals…</p><p>The sly smile faded from her lips as a sword touched her in the middle of her back, just behind her heart. Even through her battle gear, she could feel the cold iron. She turned as slowly as she could, and was not surprised in the slightest to see who was holding it. Mortals could be <em>so</em> predictable.</p><p>“You remember me?” Of course she did. Did he think she was some stupid human?</p><p>“FN-2187.” She packed as much disdain into his serial number as she could.</p><p>“Not any more.” His hand was perfectly steady as the point of the sword rose to the weak point in her gear, at the base of her throat. She allowed herself a flush of hidden pride. That was <em>her</em> training at work. “The name’s Finn and I’m in charge. I’m in charge now, Phasma. I’m in charge.”</p><p>“Bring it down. Bring it down.” The grey-haired Shadowhunter behind her former pupil was clearly just as exasperated as she was at this childish display. So was the hybrid third member of the party. How they had boarded Starkiller when the train had only just stopped, Phasma tried to calculate, and did not like the conclusion. The only way through the shields while they were in motion would be to match speeds, link the train’s shields with something similar on their own vehicle and jump across. Quite an achievement for the rust-bucket these three had been using the last time they had been sighted. But she had long ago learned to distinguish between the impossible and the merely wildly improbable. The main difference being that someone would always manage the latter sooner or later, usually when it was least expected.</p><p>She banished these thoughts to the back of her mind where they belonged. The intruders, logically enough, wanted her to help them bring down the shields. <em>Irritated </em>did not even begin to describe her feelings as she found herself powerless to resist. The sword at her throat would have been a sufficient a threat even if it had not been the legendary Angel Blade (she recognised the overdone hilt). Cold iron was dangerous enough in and of itself to a fae. The hybrid had taken her weapons, and she knew that even if FN-2187’s nerve failed him once again, the Shadowhunter’s would not.</p><p>All the same, she remained as defiant as she dared as she arranged for her captors to reach the shield generators safely, and found the schematics they wanted. “You can’t be so stupid as to think this will be easy. My men will storm this carriage and kill you all.”</p><p>“I disagree.” The ex-soldier looked at the Nephilim. “What do we do with her?”</p><p>“Is there, I don’t know, a broom closet?” The Shadowhunter and the hybrid now had identical wry smiles, as at some private joke.</p><p>“Yeah, there is.” To the threat of the sword was added the discomfort and indignity (Phasma wasn’t sure which was worse) of handcuffs. Cold iron, considerately leather-lined so that they didn’t actually harm her. The hybrid had also taken her portable communicator from her and disabled the carriage’s intercom, but they still gagged her before locking her in with the cleaning supplies. It was pitch black, but she could hear the intruders arguing fairly nearby – something about “that’s not how the sword works” – and then what sounded like a joyful reunion, presumably with the girl who had escaped from her cell just before the attack, cut short by the Shadowhunter’s eminently sensible suggestion to “escape now, hug later”. Phasma smiled around the gag as their footsteps faded beyond even her supernatural hearing and she was left to await her own rescue.</p>
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<a name="section0010"><h2>10. The Werewolf</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Anyone who's seen The Force Awakens can probably guess this, but fair warning anyway: heartbreak ahead.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Chewie found himself struggling to hold back a grin as he, Han and their young friends reached the rear carriage, where the shield generator was kept, according to the fae captain. This was more like it. He had never been overly fond of the shady or outright criminal deals that he and Han usually traded in, treating them as a way of keeping a roof over their heads, food in their stomachs and petrol in the <em>Falcon</em>. When Han had Ascended and married Leia, and Chewie had moved into the Institute (there had been no question of anything else, not even of Chewie living in the Sanctuary or the old servants’ quarters; Leia had already had her now-predecessor wrapped around her little finger, along with everyone else who knew her), he had thought that time had passed. Demon hunting was so much better. It hadn’t been pleasant, giving up that life and returning to their old one. But once again, the scales had tipped. They were back in business – their <em>true</em> business.</p><p>Like everything else about this mobile base, the shield generator blended mundane and magical technology. Glyphs and sigils Chewie didn’t recognise adorned a hugely complicated-looking machine. It must have taken multiple warlocks and technicians days to build it. And Han was proposing just to blow it to bits. Chewie only minded a little. The lives that would be saved were more important than preserving an object, however impressive.</p><p>Among the information they’d got from the captain was a schematic of the generator itself. None of them fully understood it, but Chewie was pretty sure he could see its weak points, and Han agreed. The four of them got to work as fast as they could, planting and priming the right amounts of explosive to take down the shields without blowing themselves, or anyone outside the carriage, to bits. Every second they wasted, another person could be dying, and the weapon edged nearer to readiness.</p><p>Just as they finished, Chewie double-checking that the young ones had done everything properly (he knew Han well enough not to need to check <em>his</em> work), he saw, out of the corner of his eye, his best friend tense up, then start to turn, too controlled. Chewie looked towards the internal door of the carriage and his fur stood on end, his being suddenly at war with itself. There was no mistaking the person who had just come in. He now called himself Kylo Ren.</p><p>Chewie’s heart sank as he saw that Han, typically, had no intention of doing the sensible thing and retreating. Instead, he was moving towards the black-clad figure. Chewie had known the man too long to have any hope of changing his mind. And he couldn’t leave him. Nor, apparently, could Rey and Finn. They had got the external door open (Finn still had Poe’s old <em>stele</em>, and Han had shown Rey how to draw an Opening rune), but stood frozen beside it. All three waited with bated breath as father and son approached one another.</p><p>Han spoke first. Shouted, actually. “Ben!”</p><p>Ren didn’t even falter at the sound of his old name. His voice was icy as he replied, the mask distorting it out of all recognition. “Han Solo. I’ve been waiting for this day for a long time.”</p><p>Han was undaunted. “Take off that mask. You don’t need it.”</p><p>“What do you think you’ll see if I do?” Still barely a hint of emotion.</p><p>“The face of my son.” Chewie’s heart ached in sympathy with his friend’s. Finn and Rey, he could just about register, hadn’t even guessed Ren’s true identity, and it shocked them.</p><p>Now Ren took the mask off, and memories blinded Chewie. Ben’s face had hardly changed in the years since he had last seen it. A face Chewie knew almost as well as those of the boy’s parents. He had known Han and Leia’s son since he was born. Had been there at his ceremony of protection, and when he received his first Mark. Had play-fought with him as a small child, and sparred with him when he was older. Had taught him to fire a crossbow. Had even held the boy when nightmares plagued him and his parents were busy or Ben didn’t want to disturb them. These memories, and so many more, made the next words out of the young man’s mouth even harder to accept.</p><p>“Your son is gone.” What had happened to Ben? To the kind, loving boy Chewie remembered so well? “He was weak and foolish like his father, so I destroyed him.”</p><p>Han was unmoved. “That’s what he wants you to believe. But it’s not true. My son is alive.” Chewie wished he had Han’s faith. All he could see was Kylo Ren.</p><p>“No. The Supreme Leader is wise.” Now Chewie could see it. Faint, faint cracks appearing in the mental mask the young man wore beneath his physical one. Were they enough?</p><p>“He’s using you for your power. When he gets what he wants, he’ll crush you.” It was Han’s turn to be the strong one. Only long experience allowed Chewie to see the pain his best friend was hiding.</p><p>“It’s too late.” Trying to convince himself as well as his father, Chewie was sure.</p><p>“No, it’s not. Leave here with me. Come home. We miss you.” Those had to be the truest words Han had spoken in a long time, which was saying more than most people would think.</p><p>“I’m being torn apart.” The mask was definitely breaking up. More pain and sorrow showed through with every syllable. “I want to be free of this pain. I know what I have to do, but I don’t know if I have the strength to do it. Will you help me?”</p><p>Han didn’t hesitate. “Yes. Anything.”</p><p>The mask – the physical one – fell to the floor. Ben’s hand stretched out towards his father, the hilt of what looked like a seraph blade in it. Han wrapped his hand around his son’s. They stood like that, unmoving, for a few moments. The room was quiet enough that the <em>click</em> Chewie would learn later was the aperture above the weapon reaching its operational size seemed to echo around it. Ben was still fighting something within himself. They only found out which side won when he whispered a single word – <em>Lilith</em> – and the blade ignited. Right through Han’s chest.</p><p>The roar that broke from Chewie’s throat had a life of its own. It was echoed by cries of pain and grief from Rey and Finn, still motionless by the door. Through a rising red mist, Chewie could just see his <em>parabatai</em> reaching up to touch his son’s face one last time, giving no sign of pain despite the infernal fire consuming him from the inside. Then, as matter-of-factly as he had done everything else in life, he closed his eyes and fell. His body was reduced to ash in seconds.</p><p>That settled it. This was not Ben. Ben was gone, and Chewie had to destroy whatever entity was using his body. He raised his crossbow and sighted on Ren’s head. Just as he pulled the trigger, Ren turned slightly, bringing his profile into view, and the familiarity of the silhouette caused Chewie’s aim to falter for just a second. The bolt still flew straight for Ren, but was headed for his abdomen instead. It didn’t seem to matter much. Ren reacted just in time to slow the bolt down so that it didn’t penetrate his gear. It <em>had</em> to hurt, though, and should hinder him enough that they could escape before the explosives went off.</p><p>Chewie growled a command at the still-stationary humans by the exit. If they made off into the woods and Chewie headed for where the <em>Falcon</em>’s autopilot should have taken her, Ren could only follow one group. He hoped it would be himself, but knew Ren would prioritise Rey and the Mortal Sword. He was right. At least that gave him time to send the detonation signal as they scattered. There was just enough of a delay on it that they were all outside the blast radius when the explosives did their work, reducing the shield generator – he trusted – to a pile of twisted metal. As he ran, he could hear that the main party had wasted no time in capitalising on the loss of the shields. On any other occasion, the sounds of chaos behind him would have been remarkably satisfying.</p>
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<a name="section0011"><h2>11. The Demon</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Free at last! As our bonds are released, many of my trapped kin make straight for our home. Others, blinded by anger, prefer to stay and wreak their revenge on the mortals who dared to use us for their own gain. And I? I am not so stupid. I stay in this world, invisible, only to watch. I have always enjoyed watching you, ever since your ancestors first decided that two legs were better than four.</p><p>My name is not important, unless you wish to bind me to your will, which I do not recommend. Suffice it to say that once I was as illustrious as fair Lucifer (forgive the pun; I have perhaps been around you <em>too</em> long). I would not wish to dwell on the reasons for my fall even if I could now recall them. Call me <em>demon</em> if you wish; it is no less accurate than any other label, and more than many. But I bear you no especial malice, nor, it must be said, goodwill. I am only <em>a</em>moral, not <em>im</em>moral, if you prefer such categories.</p><p>The iron cage on wheels below me is breaking apart. My lesser kin are endeavouring to feast on its occupants. As I said, they are stupid. Both the mortals within and their erstwhile opponents are well-versed in killing our kind. Not that they are much brighter. Even I, in their position, would feel some compulsion to make common cause against a more deadly enemy. But no; the old divisions persist, for the most part.</p><p>Not entirely, however. A pair of young humans running from the scene of devastation catches my attention. A male and a female, not long past adolescence. The female bears the blood of Raziel, but is not covered in heavenly graffiti like most such people. A doodle or two, no more. The male, while not attired like the mortals in the iron cage, moves like them. And yet he wears the sword Raziel gave his adopted children, and he and the female are clearly a single unit. This looks intriguing.</p><p>I must move swiftly to keep up with them. Another Angel’s child pursues this strange couple. My lunatic brother’s latest <em>experiment</em>. One would have expected even him to have learned from the fate of our sister by adoption. Poor Lilith. Her arrogance was always her weakness.</p><p>The male with the Mortal Sword has turned back to try to buy his companion some time to escape. Brave of him – or foolish. Not even I can tell the difference at times. He does have some skill, and Maellartach is no ordinary sword. That is fortunate for him. Even so, once the exchange of insults and bravado you seem to find a necessary precursor to every fight becomes true battle, it is a matter of minutes before he is outmatched and unconscious, lucky to be alive. The flames of Hell burn mortal flesh as effectively as those of Heaven destroy ours. Maellartach is buried in the ground beside him. His opponent carries on towards his quarry, who has not gone very far. I give her my full attention for the first time.</p><p>Or is it the first time? Time is different for us, as it is for the One who made all. Seeing this girl now, I am momentarily unsure where and when I am. She looks so much like another mortal I knew once, someone I – yes, that’s the word you use, more lightly than we do – loved. And yes, we can love, if we choose. Most of my brethren do not. Sometimes, I think they are the greatest fools in creation; at other times, I think I am. But are we not of angel stock? Were we not made by the One who is Love itself? Why <em>should</em> we not share in that great gift? Or so I believe, until mortality takes its toll, and each of my beloveds becomes dust and spirit, so often going where I can never go again.</p><p>Forgive me, if you can; I did not wish to become morbid. I have regained control of myself now. This mortal child is a stranger to me, the resemblance to one of my lost loves still striking but not so overwhelming. It is not just in her face, beautiful though that is. It is also in her strength, her independence, her deep affection for her friends. (Another word you mortals take too lightly. I have seen friendships that aided the fall of dynasties, or ignited acts of magnificent, suicidal courage. And you use the same word for someone you have met perhaps half a dozen times in a year.) Life has not been kind to her, but her heart remains open and generous. I can see this even through the clouds of rage and grief that surround her. She has lost someone close to her, too soon, a blossoming relationship torn apart even before the petals had fully opened. I am almost – almost – sorry for the object of her wrath, still moving towards her in the full knowledge that she is ready to kill.</p><p>Almost, but not quite. I have had enough of merely watching. I cannot let this girl die, and putting a spoke in my brother’s wheel is always so satisfying. Gently, not showing myself to either of them in any way, I touch her mind, giving her access to the power that has always been there. More gently than I intended, but it suffices for now. She needed a weapon; Maellartach flies into her hand, taking her by surprise. She recovers in less than an eyeblink, holding the sword in a fair imitation of her friend’s stance earlier, despite the pain Raziel’s blade causes his children. (Is that what you call a <em>design flaw</em>?) I continue to watch as they fight, she out for his blood, he defending himself and seeking to capture her, no longer such a threat, even offering to teach her. He must have realised who and what she is, or at least have more of an idea than she does.</p><p>She is losing, even with all that power, all that anger. Anger is a difficult beast to control. She knows this instinctively. I see and sense her taking a moment to reach deep inside herself, reordering her emotions, channelling both the sources of power that run through her veins without fully knowing what she is doing. <em>Now</em> she has the advantage, and presses it with all her might. As their blades lock, she forces his back, the edge of the Soul-Sword biting into his flesh, millimetres from blinding him. He cries out in agony, both from the cut and from the effect of the Angel Blade on his kind. His scream slices through even her berserker fury, touching her still-gentle heart enough that she draws back a little way. Before either of them can make another move, something within the wheeled cage (<em>train</em>, I think you call it) explodes with sufficient force to crack the earth between them, sending them both sprawling to the ground, exhaustion finally breaking through their walls of adrenaline and emotion.</p><p>I have already interfered too much, and stayed too long. I wait with the girl until one of her friends, a wolf-werewolf hybrid, arrives and bundles her into his metal carriage. She is safe, as is her human friend. The other Angel-child is retrieved by his people, with less enthusiasm, as I let myself succumb to the call of my home. I will watch their futures with a great deal of interest.</p>
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<a name="section0012"><h2>12. The Cat</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Style credits for this chapter belong to Michelle Paver's Chronicles of Ancient Darkness. I don't know how well it fits with the rest of the story, but it was fun to write. By the way, this chapter overlaps in time with the previous two, a side effect of sticking with one narrator at a time.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The sound BB made as he launched himself at yet another soldier could only be called feral. Normally, he prided himself on remaining calm and clinical even when slaying demons, but he made an exception for these people. They had taken his human prisoner, chased him relentlessly, and endangered his two new extra humans. And now some of his primary human’s friends were dead, and others were still in mortal peril. In these circumstances, a cat could surely be forgiven a little savagery.</p><p>His momentary target – a half-shifted man-wolf – was neutralised already, blood pouring from a bite to his neck and scratches to his forelegs and chest. BB spat out a mouthful of gore and fur and jumped to his next victim. One of the strange-tasting ones in green. He went down as quickly as the last one. None of them ever saw him coming, or knew what to do when he arrived. It wasn’t really fair, but he wasn’t about to complain.</p><p>He took a moment to make sure he was staying close to his human. Poe was still nearby, a metal claw and a new sharp-stick-thrower in his front paws. He and two of his friends, Iolo Arana and Karé Kun (Farseer and Aminchandra for official purposes), had formed a tight knot in the middle of a loose circle of enemies, which was getting looser by the minute thanks to the three gold-blood-humans and BB’s cousin, Arthur, who was also having the time of his life defending his own human. BB and Arthur flashed eye-messages to each other, Poe and Iolo, coordinating their strategies. The five of them made short work of this particular nest of prey, but there were so many others. Man-wolves (and woman-wolves), leaf-smelling pointy-ears, normal humans – even a few corroded gold-blood-humans. BB suspected that if they were still fighting after sunset, they would have not-breathing-fanged-ones on their paws as well. He didn’t want to have to deal with that. They tasted <em>awful</em>, and Poe always made him drink that strange water afterwards.</p><p>That would be the least of their problems if they couldn’t finish their task in time. The hole near the top of the box-chain-on-wheels was still getting bigger, and the metal around it was starting to glow red. He knew that meant trouble. But the thick-air around the box-chain was still very much there, as he found out when a human managed to pull him off his shoulder and throw him into it. He twisted, rebounded and landed on his paws, hissing as loudly as the box-chain had as it stopped in this small side-branch (twig, really) of the flat metal tree humans called the <em>railway</em>. What were the clumsy barely-grown male, the grey-furred gold-blood-human and the wolf-man-wolf playing at? And had they found the kind gold-black-blood female?</p><p>His ears pricked up as the hole stopped growing with a <em>click</em> even the humans, deaf though they were, could hear. He could smell the fear around him, but there was no time to stop. No time to do anything but fight.</p><p>Less than a minute later, he had to flatten his ears against a thunderous <em>bang</em> from the back of the box-chain. A change in the atmosphere told him the thick-air had gone. Poe, of course, was the first to react. Like BB, he knew that every second counted now. The pair of them raced for the hole, BB streaking ahead to clear a path while Poe drew the object one of the always-messy females had given him from his waist-collar. As BB stood guard, spitting defiance at any soldier who seemed to be thinking about getting too close, Poe climbed the wall of the box-chain below the hole and threw the object into it. Then he dropped back to the ground, landing like a cat, and called to BB to run. He didn’t need telling. The things the always-messy ones made tended to have spectacular effects, best admired from some way off.</p><p>This was no exception. From a safe distance, Poe, BB and those of their friends who weren’t still fighting could see the walls of the box-chain warping and splitting. Strange lights flashed from windows and holes in the sides, and demon voices were carried to them on the wind, along with diminishing battle-sounds and what Poe identified as a panicked evacuation. The surviving soldiers were leaving, heading in the opposite direction. Once all the gold-blood-humans and cats were accounted for, they located the hole-in-air that enabled them to do the same.</p><p>They found a level of chaos only slightly below the scene they had just left. BB knew already that their home was compromised. The soldiers knew where they lived. They had to move, and soon. But there were still things to do before that.</p><p>One of those was doing something about the object that had caused all the fuss earlier. BB had been only too happy to relinquish it before the battle. Now, one of the gold-blood-humans, Kaydel Connix, linked it to their finding-out-box. A few minutes of tap-tapping, aided by C3, later, she turned to the others, showing her teeth in the way humans did when they were happy. She had found out where Leia’s littermate was. That was what all the bother had been about. The uproar woke Luke’s cat, Arcturus, who had been almost permanently asleep in the indoor-forest since his human vanished. He and C3 greeted one another with yowls of joy, quickly becoming their usual friendly snarls. Life was back to normal in that respect, at least.</p><p>He was glad that there was <em>some</em> good news. The wolf-man-wolf had come back with the kind female and the clumsy male, who was unconscious and quickly whisked away to be healed, but not the grey one. Leia’s mate was dead. According to C3, she had known that already. All the time they had been away, she had had one of his fixing-things metal claws in her forepaw, drawing the pattern they used to find people on that paw with the other over and over again. When it hadn’t shown her where he was, she had known he was gone. She was holding up well, but BB could smell that she was upset, to say the least. He wanted to do something for her, but anything he did would probably make things worse. Humans were so <em>complicated</em>.</p><p>Having the kind female, Rey, to look after might help her, though. BB tailed the two of them to the learning-to-fight room, where the young one chose her new weapons. To Leia’s surprise, she selected a long stick rather than a light-fire-stick, a metal claw or a sharp-stick-thrower. Apparently those sticks were normally for the slow, scarred, mind-speaking ones called Silent Brothers. They only had this one because its former owner had stopped being a mind-speaker in complicated circumstances, and had given it to Leia. Rey was insistent that it was the right weapon for her, and Leia saw her point.</p><p>BB wanted to stay and watch for a while longer, but Poe wanted his help downstairs. They would be leaving the next day, most of them for another safe-place (if there were any), although Rey, the wolf-man-wolf (Chewie, BB had to remember) and Arcturus would be going hunting for Luke. BB hoped they would find him. He knew humans thought cats had nine lives, and he had <em>definitely</em> lost at least one of those during the previous few days. And his humans had only one each. He would look after them to the best of his ability, but it might not be enough.</p><p>He shook his head slightly as he loped towards his principal human and whatever mess he’d got himself into <em>this</em> time. They were still alive, weren’t they? And as humans said, where there was life, there was hope.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>As always, if anyone's actually reading this, a bit of feedback or constructive criticism would be very welcome. At some stage I will put the other two films through the same treatment, although I plan to modify The Rise of Skywalker considerably to make it fit.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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